


Water Under the Bridge

by GardenTheGates



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GardenTheGates/pseuds/GardenTheGates
Summary: "In the years to come, people would often ask Caiwen Lavellan how she could have fallen for the Dread Wolf himself. And her answer was always the same; She didn't, she fell for an apostate named Solas.A look into the moments that snuck up on both of them, and captured both their hearts."Note: This will be a work mostly following the SolasxLavellan relationship in DAI and the Tresspasser DLC, but will also have some CullenxLavellan undertones throughout, probably becoming more prevalent later on in the story.





	1. Rocky Starts

Caiwen Lavellan was not someone who was easily disoriented. Years of training to be her clan’s leading huntress (17 out of her 27 total to be exact) meant that she was quick, observant, level headed (for the most part) and poised. So the sensation of waking up in a human prison of some sort, chained, already being shouted at in Common (words of accusation? For what?) shouldn’t have shaken her. But then she felt it. Her hand. Her bow-steadying hand. It ached. No – seared! She couldn’t remember a time a pain shot through her whole body from a focal point like this.

It was green. And glowing. Magic – she suddenly understood. At the same time it was impossible, she was no mage. Folding the fade around her will was never a talent she possessed, unlike her kin back home. Fear slowly clouded her vision, and clawed at her stomach so that she barely made out the words the Seeker spat down at her.

At first she assumed they caught her spying. Innocent as her mission may have been she knew instinctively that because of her tapered ears she was suspicious to these southerners. In the Free Marches elves were disliked and mistrusted on the whole as well, but at least her clan (one less prone to nomadic practices than others she knew of) had a tenuous relationship with the nearby human cities and tradesmen.

Here she was an intruder, a stranger. They had no way of knowing she was only here to keep her clan as safe as possible. She knew their ignorance of her intention was not their fault. And yet. She words of the Seeker finally took form through the haze in her brain. The conclave was destroyed, people were dead but she was not. Why her brain could not conjure any image of the last few hours (minutes? Days? How long had she been down here?) she could not fathom.

“You think I’m responsible?” She asked incredulously. Hundreds of people dead. She’d never so much as killed one. Boars and bears and rams sure but never a person.

“Explain this.” The woman spat in her thick Nevarran accent, holding up her hand as a particularly powerful spasm of pain shot through it and – was that sparks? She dared not wince; she could not show weakness. Not here, not in front of these strangers’ eyes so full of accusation and conviction.

“I-I can’t.” She stammered out, hating the shake she could not hide in her voice.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” The confusion and panic she felt in her gut was creeping into her voice despite her attempts at steadying herself. It was all she could do to not cry out at the pain from that mystery on her hand. She figured if her choices were a shaky voice or tears, she might as well go with the better option. “Or how it even got there.” Instead of Caiwen’ denial placating her, the woman before her growled and lunged forward

“You’re lying!” Before Caiwen could even react, a second women, one cloaked in shadow despite her brilliant red hair, pushed the desperate Seeker off of her.

“We need her Cassandra.” The woman shot back tersely, concern seeping into her voice despite her strong stance. Well, at least Caiwen wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hide all of herself right then.

“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent.” She managed to make her voice sound a lot more confident and strong than she was currently feeling. But then the red haired woman asked her what she remembered and she lost any sense of confidence she had mustered before.

“I-I remember…” Spiders. Millions of them. She hated the insects normally but these – all spiky and beady eyes and pincers and huge – “…running. And these creatures were chasing me. And then…” A soft glow, an outstretched hand finally hope in this wretched wasteland “…a woman?” Even as she said the word she couldn’t be sure if it was right. “A woman?” Caiwen’s own amber eyes met the woman’s, she saw hope suddenly flare up in them but she could not decipher why. “She…reached out to me but then…” Nothing. Blank. It was gone, whatever fleeting memory or dream she was grasping at dissipated in her mind.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.” The other woman, Cassandra, at least sounded calmer now. That did not stop the surge of unease that washed over the elf at the thought of going anywhere alone with this woman. But then she was reaching down, unchaining her but still not removing the ropes around her wrists. She felt certain enough to ask now, even if she did not know if she would like the answer.

“What…did happen?” Cassandra shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unsure herself. “It…would be easier to show you.”

The sun blinded her for a moment. No it was the wrong color for the sun. As her eyes adjusted to the sight she felt a stone in her stomach. This wasn’t right. There was…a hole? In the sky. It was swirling and massive and terrifying and green. The same sick green of her hand, which was tingling in…recognition?

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She felt the stone in her stomach shift again. Demons. Definitely not good. “It’s not the only rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Explosion. Ok. At least now she knew what everyone was talking about, even if she still didn’t know how she fit into this just yet. She was faintly aware of herself questioning how any kind of explosion could do…well that, and Cassandra assuring her. This didn’t feel real. It had to be some sort of night terror. But no her hand sparked again and pain shot through her body at an unexpected velocity, sending her to her knees.

“Each time the breach expands you mark spreads. And it is killing you. But it may be the key to stopping all this.” The matter of fact tone of the Seeker both calmed and infuriated her, and reminded her so much of her Keeper. There is danger, its not a question but a fact, and you must deal with it da’len.

“How?” Was all she could grit through her teeth, hand clenched around the searing mark as the pain ebbed and flowed through her palm.

“It may be the key to closing the Breach. Whether that is possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance however. And yours.” The edge was back in her voice, sharp like the sword at Cassandra’s waist. These insane accusations (didn’t humans ever hear of proof) ate at the knot of fear in her throat and she could hear the anger boiling in her own voice.

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.” The woman’s lip sneered in distaste as she yanked her to her feet.

As she was pushed through their camp she felt more than heard the anger emanating off of the people around her. Eyes alight in rage and hurt focused on her, as Cassandra confirmed her suspicion of everyone’s blind hatred. She had been disliked by people before, but this pure seething hatred, more like a giant wild animal than a throng of people, was something she had never experienced directed at her, let alone for something she didn’t even do (for now, despite her gaps in memory, she was sure none of this could have been her doing). Cassandra talked of their Divine (dead?) and her good works, bringing the Templars and mages together like this was something Caiwen had expressed distasted in. Didn’t she, didn’t anyone, know that this stupid war effected her people too? Why did they even think an elven clan would take interest if it did not. They didn’t want this meaningless violence to continue any more than their human counterparts did.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Come.”

And with that the ropes on her wrists were gone and the Seeker was leading her up the mountain pass. It took some convincing to let her keep the bow she grabbed but a few quick shots to a rage demon behind the Seeker quickly made up the woman’s mind. Up and up they ran, cold ate at her but it distracted her from the pain, from everything that she needed to tune out and so she welcomed it. She was on the hunt now, bow comfortably grasped in her left hand , the pressure felt welcome against the sharp sparks of hurt there. Her ears twitched and she hurled an arrow at a demon creeping up behind them. For once she didn’t even know who the prey was. She had a bad feeling it was her this time.

And then Cassandra was leading them to a fight. A dwarf and a man were fighting off demons around a smaller version of the Breach above. No not a human man, an elf, a mage. He was clanless, his face as bald as his head but his strong features moved like the hunters she ran with, his weapon a staff instead of a bow. Muscles twisted and stretched, magic shooting from both him and his staff in a way she wished she could imitate with an arrow. She fired off a few more shots, felling the weakened opponents at they ran up to the two strangers.

“Quickly! Before more come through.” And before she could marvel at the depth of his voice or the raw panic and adrenaline threaded through it, his hand was on her wrist and she felt sparks. Her confusion heightened as she realized the sparks were coming from her. Her hand sparked and throbbed and stiffened as a green light connected the rift and her mark, until she could no longer stand it and she pulled her hand back into her. It felt like pulling a rope, one that was once attached to something heavy and unmoving, but suddenly detached with such force that it temporarily knocked the wind out of her. And suddenly, the pain was gone. Not entirely but lessened to such a wonderful degree that she felt tears of relief prick at her eyes.

She turned suddenly to the strange elf next to her, his hand a sudden absence her body regretted.

“What did you do?” She heard the wonder in her own voice, felt her eyes go wide but for once she didn’t feel like schooling her emotions.

“I did nothing.” His face broke out into a triumphant grin, like he was proud of himself, proud of her, and his eyes lit up in a way that made her whole body ache for a minute. Finally, someone who didn’t wish her dead. Yet, at least. “The credit is yours.”

“I did that?” She looked down at her hand again, doubt rippling through her body. That was definitely magic and she was definitely no mage. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon her hand.” The wonder and curiosity he exuded made her feel like a puzzle he had solved. The thought thrilled and infuriated her at the same time. She didn’t want this, ask for this, even know how to use this and here this strange man is, giddy as the thought of such power thrown upon her. “I theorized that the mark could close the rifts left in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” Oh. So not proud of her, but proud of himself. His joy turned to smugness and she felt the relief warring with pure annoyance.

“Meaning it could close the Breach itself.” She had forgotten about Cassandra, and the dwarf for that matter.

“Possibly.” And suddenly those giant blue eyes were on her again, the smugness still sitting on his face but now it was overshadowed by a smile that stopped her dead. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” It was like the wind was knocked out of her all over again. The weight of his smile, of the sudden responsibility he landed on top of her. Everything was too much. This was not what this mission was supposed to be.

“Good to know.” And just like that she was grounded in the present again. “Here I thought we were gonna be ass deep in demons forever.” The dwarf cocked his crossbow and sidled up to her like a drunkard in a tavern. Yet somehow it was charming rather than sleazy. She fought the urge to grin. “Varric Tethris. Rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He punctuated his introduction with a wink aimed at Cassandra, which made the woman’s lip curl in a sneer. Ok, she definitely liked this dwarf.

“Are you with the Chantry, or…?” The elf chuckled and she felt another flare of annoyance, despite how brilliant his smile was or the rumble of his voice.

“Was that a serious question?” Well it wasn’t her fault she barely knew anything about these crazed Andrastians or their ways. She didn’t even know anything about what happened in her own recent past.

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you considering current events.”

“It’s nice to meet you Varric.” She interjected, taking on her best ambassador voice. She was here to do her people proud after all. And she felt a kinship to this trapped dwarf already.

“You might reconsider than stance. “ the elf interjected dryly, one dark eyebrow cocking up, even though mischief glittered in his eyes.

“Oh I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.” Well that certainly was an odd name for anyone, let alone the elf in front of her. And that was when Cassandra piped in again, arguing with the dwarf, Varric, about whether or not he’d be coming.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” Her breath faltered again under his direct gaze. “I’m glad to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’.” Her natural suspicion of strangers fell over her shoulders as she examined him. For something no one understood, he understood a lot.

“You seem to know a lot about this.” He grinned smugly again, even though she was not trying to stroke his ego he seemed to take it that way.

“Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra quipped, as if that would explain it all.

“Technically all mages are apostates now Cassandra.” He focused his gaze back on Caiwen, as if to answer her unspoken question. “My travels allow me to experience much of the fade. Far beyond any circle mage.” He grew solemn then, the joy from before vanishing as quickly as it appeared as his seemed to remember everything around them. “I came to offer my help with the Breach. If it does not close we are all doomed, regardless of origin.” _No pressure, then_. Instead she swallowed the lump in her throat and asked him what he would do when it was all over. When not if. “One would hope those in power would remember who helped. And who did not.” Not such a different mindset than what brought her to the conclave in the first place. “Cassandra. You should know the magic at work here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage, but I have a hard time imaging even if she was, that any mage could have such power.” “Understood.” And with that they were heading towards the next forward camp, seemingly forgetting her behind.

Varric turned to her and grinned. Tapping his crossbow affectionately he said, “Well…Bianca’s excited.”

“You named it?”


	2. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' interest in the Elvhen woman was purely academic. Truly.

When they first brought her away from the explosion site, he didn't look at her much. Well, he looked at her hand, sparking with a magic that was so familiar to him that it felt wrong to be so far from his body. It was only after quelling a rather sudden and strong flare up from the mark that he was able to convince Cassandra to let him stay. He knew he was probably on borrowed time, and the cordial mistrust the Seeker held in her eyes was a constant reminder that once his job was done, he would have to leave.

The first night he spent by her side consisted mostly of him preventing the spread of the anchor's magic from her palm into her arm. Once he managed to contain it, he felt drained. His power was not what it was before he slept, it was barely even up to snuff with the more accomplished mages he had come across on his journey here. So he rested, her hand clutched in his own, so he could feel any sudden surge of power and fight it.

The next day was spent keeping her fever at bay. He was no true healer, though he grasped basic concepts and minor spell. But he was the best option they had on hand, as most of the healers had died in the explosion. He was also loathe to have anyone else loom over the girl. No,  _woman_ , he noticed as her hurried breath evened out under a soft frost spell he placed on her forehead. He realized suddenly that she had been all but a detached hand to him before now. It didn't do her justice. Never mind the fact that despite everything he knew, she was still alive. Barely, but that spark of life was there, fluttering softly under her chest. But she was also, _objectively he told himself_ , physically lovely. Her body was muscled and taught, and he briefly remembered seeing a bow by her side when the others had retrieved her from under the Breach. Her skin was a warm, tanned olive, freckled from time spent in the sun. She was Dalish, of course, and he felt his nose crinkle in instant distaste. Probably a hunter, given the bow,so naturally she spent a lot of time running through the sun spattered forests. He let his eyes wander up to her face. Sweat still dripped over her features but he still could see she was beautiful. She had a strong square jaw, pert nose and pink lips, bowed just like her weapon of choice. He felt himself smirk at the comparison. Even the pale green vallaslin of June, a sight that even now made his skin crawl and a long dormant anger stir in his stomach, looked almost...pretty against her darkened skin. Her golden (for there was no other shade to describe the vibrant yellow of it) hair stuck to the sweat on the corners of her face. Shaved on one side, braided over the other. The style let her long tapered ears jut out proudly. The only thing he could not take in during this moment of quiet observation was the color of her eyes, as they remained fitfully closed, and he found himself growing frustrated at how much he just wanted to know what they looked like.

 

Yes, she was lovely. Aesthetically pleasing, which there was no shame in admitting. Anyone would be able to see that. 

 

The next few days he only wondered a couple more times about her eyes. He was too busy trying to stop the mark from spreading and with each day it got harder to control, and with each day he grew more tired. The Breach kept growing, and he in his weakened state could do nothing to stop it. If only she would wake up then maybe, maybe there was some hope. But she still slept and the mark still grew. 

He couldn't remember the last time he felt so helpless and frustratingly  _stupid_. If he hadn't have created the Veil, if he hadn't have slept, if he hadn't given his orb to Corypheus, if if  _if._  

 

Finally on the fifth day he couldn't stand feeling helpless anymore, and he could feel Cassandra growing impatient. Impatient Chantry usually meant danger for apostates. He gave up on waking the elf. She was a lost cause at this point. He would travel to the Breach himself and try to close it, he might be able to muster just enough magic, and if it recognized the feel of his mana maybe...just maybe.

So he took off. Ideally he would have been alone but Cassandra caught him as she entered into the cell he had all but lived in the last few days. 

"Take Varric with you. If you can do this...well it would not do well for you to die on the way up would it?" Solas accepted but he couldn't help but feel like this was just Cassandra's way of getting rid of two annoyances in one go.

He realized very quickly how insane this new plan of his was. He could hold his own against demons, though he had to admit the dwarf was good with that crossbow. But when they finally got to the first rift, there was nothing he could do except continue to fight wave after wave of rage and terror demons. There was no familiar hum of magic in the air and a pit formed in his stomach. This was a foolish idea. One last crazy hope to cling to before admitting how royally he has fucked up. And then he felt an arrow shoot by his head and lodge into a demon ready to claw at him. He whirled around, to thank the dwarf or berate him for getting so close he did not know, when he saw her.

She was awake, and thriving by the looks of it. Shooting arrows at an impossible pace and with frightening accuracy. He couldn't help but notice the muscles he so carefully studied before moving lithely under that lovely tan skin as she flitted about the battle field. Another bloody crunch next to him brought him back to earth and he mentally berated himself for allowing the distraction. Cassandra led her up to him and without thinking he grabbed her arm and aimed it and...

It worked! Heavens, the relief that flooded over him was like immersing in a cool stream after a walk through the desert. He could not stop the grin spreading on his face as he turned to her and - oh.

Amber. Gold. Deep flecks of earthy brown and forest green. There were more colors in her eyes than he could have dreamt up and his longing to see them these past few days suddenly felt justified. He saw in them elation, fear, confusion and...a hint of something he could not place yet. It was an unnerving experience to say the least.

Eventually the relief dissipated as he remembered there was still work to be done and he headed off towards the Breach, refusing to indulge himself in another look back at her.

After all, his interest was purely academic.

 

* * *

 

She chose to take the route that allowed them to search for the missing soldiers. In the midst of their quarreling they turned to her.

"Oh  _now_ you want my opinion." She shot. He could not blame her for being terse, given her day so far. Not to mention the Dalish were notoriously hot headed people. But she chose compassionately, and without a second thought so it seemed and he couldn't help but...admire her for it. She seemed at ease in a position that granted her the ability to make decisions on behalf of them all. He could see the pain returning to her, her body becoming more and more rigid the closer they got. The other path would have saved them time and her pain. It would not have saved the soldiers though. 

They came across another rift. Before he had finished urging her to close it her hand was snapping back and the rift was gone.

"Sealed. As before. You are growing quite proficient at this." He said to her as they caught their breath. She grinned proudly up at him and suddenly he realized he didn't even know her name.

"Let's hope it works on the big one." Varric quirked as he sidled up next to them. 

Next thing he knew they were upon the temple, the site of the explosion, where everything went wrong  _again_. There were corpses all around them, still smoldering days later, frozen in their final moments of terror. It made him sick but he pressed on. The elf, he noticed, was not as familiar with such destruction and death. Of course she wasn't. Had she even seen a dead body before?

He watched her as she reached out towards one of the silently screaming corpses, a child. Before she could touch it her fingers curled into a fist and she shut her eyes tight, as if willing the scene away. As she opened them again and took in the scene around her again her body straightened. She meant business, he realized. Something inside her had crystalized at the scene and spurred her forward towards the Breach itself. 

He vaguely noted Cassandra summarizing what had happened as she fell from the fade, or walked as the Seeker claimed. He repressed a snort at the idea of a woman leading her out; more half truths and tricks of the mind that would no doubt become fact in the eyes of these quick children, shemlen as his people say. 

The girl was silent as the entered the clearing with the Breach, high above their heads. She seemed to be studying the area for vantage points. She may not be skilled in this situation specifically but he could tell she had years of practice scouting for her clan. 

They approached the rift, and an imprint, an aftershock of what happened here permeated their minds. Cassandra was visibly shaken but the elf kept what calm she possessed, while still denying any true knowledge in that low raspy voice of hers. 

"Echos of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place." He didn't expect them to understand, how could they? Cassandra still looked perturbed but understanding stretched across the elf's face, which surprised him. "This rift is not sealed but it is closed. Albeit temporarily." He continued, "I believe with the mark the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely." She nodded, steeling herself and he couldn't help but feel he had to protect her against what was to come. "However, opening the rift will attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons." Cassandra offered and only then did the elf's face waver. A moment of vulnerability before a mask of confidence and determination fell in place. He was quite familiar with masks. "Stand ready!"

And then they fought. The fight seemed to go on forever, the massive Pride demon was not something he was prepared for and by the time he had drawn barriers and dodged some more minor demons he barely had the energy or mana to lob attack spells. 

But she kept diving and flipping the the periphery of his vision, shooting arrow after arrow at Pride until he looked comically like a pin cushion. How she had such endless energy after essentially being in a coma was beyond him.

One final blow from a few of them at once and the beast fell. The rift sputtered and he saw her reaching out the way he taught her, vulnerable to attack but determined to keep going until what needed to be done. 

Again he couldn't help the flicker of admiration that rose to his chest.

But then the Breach retched, and she fell, and did not get back up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is obviously a shorter chapter. I wanted to introduce Caiwen first, but I also think Solas' thoughts those days before we meet him is important for what happens later. I tried to skip over most of what we already saw with them in the last chapter, and it will be less game rehashing soon I promise!


	3. Titles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking with Solas is like performing a complicated dance, and Caiwen is determined to learn the steps.

The change from being the object of everyone's abject hatred to becoming the Herald of Andraste was abrupt. Suddenly she was a religious icon for a faith she didn't even follow herself. She soon grew tired of correcting people when they referred to her by her new honorific and instead snorted in distaste at the mention of such a ridiculous idea. The one thing she did know was that this whole almost dying thing was getting old and she hoped that it would end soon. But the Breach still loomed above them and she knew more fights were to come.

Part of her recognized her change in status, she was no longer a prisoner but she was still not free to leave, not really. Not when she knew there was still work to be done. There was still a threat to Thedas and therefor there was still a threat to her clan, and so she stayed. And became embroiled in the politics of a religion she knew barely anything about. 

She escaped the war room with her new advisors and the woman who days before had been ready to throw her to the wolves, so to speak, but now looked on her with a strained reverence every time she entered into the room.

Luckily, Varric still saw her as a person and not a symbol. She realized belatedly who he was.  _The_ Varric Tethras, who fought by the champion of Kirkwall's side. She heard the story told countless times by countless tradesmen who the Lavellan clan interacted with and now here he was in the flesh. He was much more snarky than she expected and it was a refreshing shift from the unwarranted awe that followed her evrywhere. At least that Rodrick guy still seemed to hate her, which somehow made her feel normal. 

"You should go see Chuckles." Varric posed the second day after she awoke. She had snuck off to the corner he liked to skulk in to ask him more about the Champion, which he had proudly obliged. But her endless questions seemed to be exhausting him now, though the twinkle of amusement was still in his eye. "We'll be leaving for the Hinterlands soon and he handled himself well against those demons. Plus I think he might have been worried about you." 

"He seems the type to worry primarily about himself." She quipped back, remembering the smugness that seemed so natural on his angled face. 

"Perhaps, but all the same, what could it hurt?" Years later Caiwen would remember those words and wonder what would have happened if she knew just what it would hurt. But then all she did was saunter off towards the cabin she had spotted him by earlier, but not before thoroughly exploring every nook, cranny and weed that lay around their holdout. She was avoiding the inevitable, she soon realized as he spotted his bald head. 

"The chosen of Andraste, blessed hero to save us all." He smirked wryly as she approached and she suppressed the urge to gag at the title.

"Please, you of all people should know that's a load of halla dung." Her word seemed to take him aback slightly, though he still sounded amused when he asked her,

"Why me of all people?"

"Well, the elf thing for one. Please don't tell me they've brainwashed you with Andraste this and Maker that." That was the wrong thing to say, she realized belatedly. His smirk faltered and he seemed to turn her words over in his head.

"While I do not follow the faith of these humans," He responded carefully, "I also don't worship your Creators." She could work with that. "Very well then, what shall I call you in its stead?"

She suddenly realized that though she knew his name, and now the whole camp seemed to at least know the clan she arrived from, she had never introduced herself. There was a lot going on, when the met.

"My name is Caiwen, of clan Levallen." She offered out her hand and he stared at it before taking it in his own, much softer than the rough handshakes shared with tradesmen but with a quiet power behind it. 

"Caiwen. That is...a name I have not come across in my travels before. What is the meaning, if any?"  
  
She flushed suddenly. She knew the answer of course but it was a silly one. "It's stupid really. It means ...maiden of the hedge. Well, virgin of the hedge. Never been much of a gardener myself and well...it's not the most accurate description let's just say." She felt her cheeks heat as he chuckled low.

"Joke as you will, but remember that posturing is necessary. I've journeyed deep inside the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations." She was envious of his magic in a way she never envied a mage before. Parlor tricks and medicine were one thing, but what he talked of,  _seeing_ the history lost to the world, to their people, that was something her curious mind would abuse. "Every great war has it's heroes, I'm just curious what kind you'll be." And suddenly his gaze was back on her. It was more intense than anything she had felt from a stranger before and she tried to stop the heat that shot through her body. He was measuring her up and she was sure she would fail him. So she deflected.

"Your name now. Did your parents know you'd be a headstrong boy when they named you pride?" She was trying to get the upper hand back and he knew it. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I grew up in a small village in the north. I knew little of my parents to be frank." She recognized the way he trailed off and the sound of an old pain. Her parents died when she was young too, and she suddenly regretted her prodding.

"I...I'm sorry." He didn't respond, but also didn't look perturbed. She took that as a sign that she could try to get her bearings and start again. "What did you mean by ruins and battlefields?"

"A structure able to stand the rigors of time has a history, every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They push against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other being has ever seen." And like that she was hooked. She needed to know more, and the way he described it, the sound of his voice was like someone reading some very intimate poetry to her and she fought another urge to blush like some youth entering her first springtime romance. She was a woman, damn it. A huntress, practical and  _experienced._ She wasn't going to let some rift mage who held the world'd history in his mind let her feel like a foolish child. After a few more questions of course.

"You  _sleep_ there? Alone? Isn't that dangerous?"

"I do set wards." He smirked again at her silly inquiry and she would  _not_ blush. "And I set food out for the spiders. Usually they are content to live and let live."

And with that she sputtered out about a dozen more questions about the Fade and the memories it held. Unlike Varric, he didn't seem to grow tired of her inquiries; on the contrary the more she asked the more he seemed at ease. She ran out of questions eventually, not for lack of them but because she wanted more excuses to talk to him later. She had forgotten all about the Hinterlands until he broke their companionable silence.

"I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed."  
  
She halted. She never considered the fact that he would leave. Of course he would, he had no ties here, no mark on his hand that stung and felt like a weight on his shoulders that he did not know if he could carry. But still she insisted on prodding. "Was that...in doubt?"

He bristled suddenly and the comfortable back and forth they just built seemed to shatter. "I am an apostate mage and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me." He must have heard how harsh his words sounded when he looked at her because he immediately softened. "Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."

She schooled her face into her most Master Huntress look she could muster. "You came here to help Solas, I won't let them use that against you." 

"How would you stop them?" He mused, not antagonizing but curious.

"However I had to." And that was that. 

* * *

 

The next few days were a flurry of preparations, sorting through requisitions and preparing gear for the party. Caiwen made a note to  see what materials she could collect on the trip to craft a few pieces for her new comrades. While her main skill in her clan was hunting, crafting was something she had always been drawn to, which is how the June vallaslin was chosen for her. She crafted the bow she carried to the conclave, though it was sadly lost in the explosion and confusion after. The one she brought to the Hinterlands was decent enough. A little off balance from what she was used to but she could work around it. 

She was so busy she didn't get to talk to Solas again about his magic until they were already making camp after several days spent running around the Hinterlands trying to curry favor with the refugees. They had just closed a rift nearby, something she was still getting used to, and Caiwen had offered to take first watch, to stretch out her aching muscles. Varric and Cassandra immediately took her up on the offer and split into the two separate tents. Well then, guess she was sharing with the Seeker. 

She had kicked off the human boots they talked her into wearing and started working out the knots in her feet by the fire when she realized Solas had not yet retired. Finally an opportunity to bombard him with questions again.

"I'd like to know more about you Solas."

He startled, blinking up at her like he only just realized she was sitting across from him. He slowly settled into a look of mistrust, something that seized at her heart in a way she didn't quite expect or enjoy.

"Why?" She was going to give him the benefit of the doubt here. A wandering apostate might not have had a chance to practice socializing like she had...or manners for that matter.

"You're an apostate yet you risk your life to help the Inquisition."

"A rather poor course of action when you put it that way."

Now he was just being evasive to tick her off she was sure of it. "I appreciate the work you're doing, I only wanted to know more about you."

He at least had the good sense to look slightly abashed. Laying down his staff and removing the outer coat he had traded for before they left Haven, he settled down on the stump next to her. "I am sorry, with so much fear in the air...What would you know of me?"

From then on she proceeded her line of questioning, direct but cautious, like approaching a wounded animal that might run off and endanger itself further if she made the wrong move. He was more than willing to oblige her questions about the Fade and the Spirits he'd met (spirits not demons, intent mattered and she would have to remember that). She gained little of his personal history but the way his eyes lit up talking about a particularly insightful spirit of wisdom made her smile a more genuine grin than she had in days. 

"You couldn't dream forever, though." The moon was rising higher and she had just returned from gather more kindling for the fire, only half surprised to find him still waiting for her. "Clearly you woke up. Why?"

It was a good question, one that rewarded her with one of his grins that she was beginning to understand meant he was impressed by her thought process, her curiosity. "Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas one must be interesting."  
  
"Well I think you're fascinating." The words were out of her mouth before she could process them entirely but even so she refused to back down from them. She had always been a shameless flirt but this time her words were genuine. A quiet smile spread across his face, smoothing over the momentary shock that was there and he turned his gaze to the fire. Finally. A visceral reaction. "Is that why you joined the Inquisition?"

Much to her chagrin the moment was clearly over. His face fell grim and his eyes stayed trained on the flickering flames. One day she would maybe figure out the intricate dance of conversation with this man, but tonight she had clearly stepped on a nerve that made him begin an inward retreat. "I joined the Inquisition because we are all in terrible danger." He said finally, carefully appraising each word as he said them. "If our enemies destroyed the world..." Something clicked inside him and the grim demeanor fell away like water through a hand, "Well I would have no where to rest my head well dreaming of the Fade." He had adopted his casual countenance from before, but she could discern there was something forced behind it, not quite the same easy natural flow as before.

"I wish you luck," was all she could manage, suddenly exhausted. _I wish us all luck_.

"Thank you. In truth I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade."

She couldn't imagine that the tasks they had undertaken so far would reveal very much to him. Finding herbs and lost rings and hunting fennecs (finally something she was god at!) didn't seem like the kind of things that would show him anything particularly interesting in the Fade. She voiced as much.And suddenly his eyes were back on her full of something she couldn't quite comprehend, and it warmed her more than the campfire ever could.

"You train to flick an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit." The heat flared in her and she refused to blush, for seemingly the hundredth time around him, and the way he looked at her reminded her of the hunters back home, scouting every inch of a landscape before they decided a course of action. He was studying her, had been for a while apparently. "You have chosen a path you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I."

"So you're suggesting I'm graceful?" She teased, trying desperately to bring some of the levity from before back, but his gaze did not waver,

"No. I am declaring it." And just like the, the sincerity and intensity in those blue eyes and the low rumble of his voice shot through her sending that lovely heat much lower than what was probably appropriate. She waned to laugh at him. Graceful? Her? Sure when she was on a hunt she could run through the trees and wind through the glens with the best of them, but graceful? Most of the elves back home had mocked her for her height, her masculine gait, her low raspy voice. She was not the ideal of a female Dalish elf, strong but willowy, small in almost every way imaginable. As she grew older, sure, she could turn some gazes with the soft curves accented by her hard muscles, and her quick flirtatious wit had developed as a defense mechanism. The best defense was a good offense and she had the best way with words. Usually. But here under the moonlight with this strange man, whose face was illuminated by the slowly dying fire and whose eyes burned even brighter.... She had no defense. "It was not a subject for debate." 

She laughed, low and soft, because what could she even say to that? So instead, she deflected. "You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas."

"I try...and that isn't quite an answer."  _Clever boy_ , she thought, turning away to hid the shy smile threatening to spill over her face. She'd have to come up with new tactics for this one. 

Turning back to him she fitted him with what she hoped was a playful, but equally intense look. "I look forward to helping you make new friends." It seemed to have the desired effect, he was momentarily struck and for the first time since meeting him, he seemed at a loss for words. 

"That would be...well." He fumbled, now it was his turn to look away again. Oh yes she did enjoy that. This could be a fun dance after all. 

"That isn't quite an answer either." She quipped, clearly proud of herself and how she turned the conversation around. She stood, stretched lazily and headed towards Cassandra's tent. "My watch is over. I suggest you find your way into the Fade before I wake Cassandra. She's even more grumpy when she's tired." And with that she left him sitting by the fire. She waited for her heart to stop its loud hammering in her chest before waking up her other companion for her watch.

She could only hope she seemed as confident as she pretended to be, despite the fact that the world felt like it was off balanced and she may never find steady footing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we see these two get a chance to actually talk! Its a bit longer than previous chapters, and I know the locations/timing of the conversations are a little off from canon but I hope you all enjoy none the less


	4. Thicker Than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen kills a man for the first time, and Solas deals with the aftermath.

It was a Templar.

That much he knew. They had been in the Hinterlands for a few days at that point, running mostly small errands for the refugees there, closing rifts, but always skirting around conflict with the neighboring war and groups of bandits. She had been mining something - iron maybe, or onyx - saying something about crafting something when they returned to Haven. She had been delighted at the prospect, humming some old Dalish song as she deftly used her tools to chip away at the mineral. That was when they attacked, seemingly out of nowhere.

There had been a skirmish with some mages, judging by the bodies, and either the Templars mistook them for rebels or...or they just didn't care. But they attacked and the group responded. At first it was just like every fight they had fought before. Cassandra charged in taking the majority of the blows and distracting the strongest opponents. Solas himself made quick work of erecting barriers and lobbing ice and lightning at the enemies surrounding the Seeker. Behind him Varric shot at the other foes making their way towards the outer pack. And in the shadows, from a higher vantage point that no one remembered seeing her climb to, Caiwen let loose arrows that injured but did not kill. Until one did.

It was a brutish man, so large that Solas admonished himself for not noticing him creeping up behind his barriers. He heard her voice then, yelling his name over the din, and swung around just in time to avoid a broad stroke of the mans sword. The Templar then held up his hand towards Solas and he felt his mana draining, fought it with every fiber of his being but he was not used to the way these Templars fought, not used to magic being a limited supply he could draw from. He was drained, weakened, and he did not think he would be able to dodge the blow to his skull that the man was gearing up for with his shield. And then a single arrow flew above him and lodged itself into the man's left eye.

For a moment it seemed like the Templar would be miraculously unaffected. He loomed over Solar for an impressive amount of time before sinking dramatically to his knees and falling, head first, into the snow and mud.The fighting was dying down now, with Cassandra and Varric teaming up against the last man standing. He took the time to steady his breathing, stand up and look back at the large boulder Caiwen was perched on. She was frozen, still holding onto her bow as if she had loosed the arrow only moments before though by now it had been at least a few minutes. That was when he remembered the look she had when they had ventured to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, they way she reached out to the mangled corpses she passed.

She had never killed a man before. He had killed countless, both directly and by consequence of this actions. But her...she was young but not a child. Though she was skilled with her weapon...she had never known war before, it was obvious to him now. She finally shifted her gaze shakily away from the man she felled and onto him. For the briefest moment he saw the panic in her eyes, but before he could blink she had schooled her expression into pure neutrality and was hopping off the ledge. She retrieved her arrows littering the ground around the scene in silence; Varric and Cassandra seemingly sensing the same thing he did. The three of them were no strangers to death, but all of them were reliving their own first kill in their minds' eyes. Finally Caiwen made it to the Templar laying before him. She started at him for too long to pass as anything other than shaken. Then she squared her shoulders, reached down and pulled the arrow out with a sickening squelch.

She headed to camp, and they all followed, just like they followed her everywhere it seemed. But this time there was no party banter, no Varric regaling them with impossible tales or Cassandra admonishing him for the exaggeration. No excited discussions over the properties of elfroot and blood lotus from her, no playful back and forth about his stoic nature. Nothing but strained silence until they reached camp. She silently handed the supplies for tent requisitions to an officer, and then entered her tent. With the scouts milling around the place, none of the four of them had to keep watch. She offered anyway, insisting that Harding had to sleep at some point and soon enough she was alone by the firelight. It was a sight he had grown accustomed to, even anticipated with some form of excitement though he was sure that could not be a good sign. But now...he was at a loss for words for her.

He contemplated just going back into his tent and falling softly into the dreams this area of the Fade held, but then a flash of distant memory came to him. The blood that stained his own hands centuries before, for the first time, and he knew instinctively it was not wise to leave her alone. And so he sat beside her, staring at the fire in silence for an impossibly long time.

Finally she spoke and the sound was more of a relief than he thought it would be. The tension he did not know was sitting in his shoulders eased, though she still kept her gaze steadfastly on the flames before them. "I'd be interested in hearing your opinions on Elvhen culture." That was not what he was expecting.

"I thought you would be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions. You are Dalish, are you not?" He didn't necessarily mean the words as an insult. It was simply a fact that the Dalish, at least all the ones he had crossed paths with, held a very steadfast belief on what made a true elf and what did not. He bare face garnered him distrust everywhere, despite the garish origins their tattoos represented. It didn't matter that they were objectively wrong about their beliefs, no amount of facts would ever sway a Dalish elf.

But, he saw now that it was the wrong thing to say. She bristled indignantly and glared over at him with a ferocity he had not seen since the day they tried to close the Breach. "What's you problem with the Dalish? Allergic to halla?" She teased, but none of the playful spirit that dictated their previous conversations was present. He felt his own temper flaring. Of course she would react this way. Her charm had almost disarmed him, let him forget how far his people had fallen. But no, this was the childish ignorant people he was dealing with, the mistake he would undo. 

"They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated a thousand times." The words were leaving his lips before he had a chance to mull over them. He felt himself growing heated, but the memories beat at him like a hundred sticks and he could not stop himself. 

"Oh but you know the truth, right?" She was all but baring her teeth. In the light she looked almost feral, a wild animal stalking her prey. He bit back the natural response that, yes, he did know the truth because he lived it. It bubbled to the surface of his throat before he swallowed it down and took a measured breath.

"While they pass on stories, mangling details I....walk the Fade." There, that was a half truth he could live with that drove his point home. "I have seen things they do not. But when I tried to share my findings I was called a flat ear and chased out of camp." She paused, studying him with those intense golden eyes, before shutting them and taking a deep breath of her own.

" _Ir abelas_ , _haren_. If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right." She glanced back at him, the anger in her gaze gone but the determination remaining. "But we are trying. We are a people lost in world that would sooner strip us of our identities than preserve our history. We gather knowledge of our past from scraps that we find scattered to the winds." She said in a measured tone, "Not everyone possesses your gifts." She seemed momentarily bitter at that last part. "What course would you set for them that is better than what they know now?" And in that question was a plea. Something told him that desperation in her voice was not just about the Dalish.

"You're right of course...the fault is mine. For...expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish." She shot him a look and he knew this was not quite the apology she was looking for. So he tried again. " _Ir abales, da'len_. If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask." That at least seemed to placate her, though he had a feeling this would not be the last time they fought about this subject.

For now at least she nodded curtly and turned back to the fire. Another few moments of silence passed and he considered retiring to his tent, but then she turned to him with big searching eyes and his heart clenched. He knew what was coming next.

"He was going to kill you." Her voice was so low and rough that had he not known better he would have though she had been crying.

"I know,  _da_ _'len_." 

"I didn't have a choice."

"I know." 

"I-" She choked over whatever words she had been about to say and looked shamefully down at the dirt her feet pushed around. "I shouldn't be so effected by this. I'm no child and we're at  _war_ _,_ have been for a while, on and off since the Blight but-" He heard the familiar waver in her voice that belied the threat tears and it was all he could do not to embrace her. "It's ridiculous." She wiped angrily at her eyes with clenched fists. "Cassandra is a soldier, Varric saw hundreds die by his bow in Kirkwall and you...well this is clearly not your first." He thought to ask her what she meant but she was already answering his unvoiced thoughts. "They way you carry yourself. Like a soldier waiting for orders. No, that's not right...more like a general." His heart stopped. How had she discerned so much from so little. She looked back at him, must have ready his stiff posture (how was she so good at that) and shook her head. "Don't worry, I won't ask, I only meant that...well you've all been around death and I...I'm handling this like a youth not yet worthy of her vallaslin."

She rested her head in her hands and breathed so deep he almost believed she would breathe him in along with the air.

"It...will get easier. And you will be appalled when it does but...it will. What you're feeling...well if you weren't feeling it I'd worry about your character." His words didn't quite ease the pain from her shoulders, but she did release her face from her hands and saw that it as blessedly free of tears. She nodded, more to herself than to him.

" _Ma serennas_. Thank you."

She looked up at him with searching eyes and he had a terrifying feeling of her looking right through him. But that was impossible and the moment was over as she stood to gather more wood for the fire, silently dismissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter one, but I thought it was important to see Lavellan's reaction to the first time she killed something other than an animal or a demon. I imagine a Dalish hunter from a clan friendly with humans probably had little opportunity to kill others and my what a lot of death happens in these games. So she's coping and Solas offers what help he can.
> 
> Also Solas' views on the Dalish are mostly garbage and romance or not Lavellan would stick up for her people.


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas discovers that Caiwen has...many gifts.
> 
> Or. Solas is totally not jealous at all nope not even a little.

It had been a few months since the explosion at the Conclave. The Inquisition seemed to collect people like Orlesians collected masks; all unique and all with a purpose. They had gathered a Qunari mercenary and his band, another elf seemingly in charge of an underground crime ring, a mage hating Orlesian enchanter and a Grey Warden. They were even starting to work with a man from Tevinter, no matter how many times the rest of them protested (Iron Bull being the loudest). And with all these new acquisitions Solas had learned one very important thing.

The Herald of Andraste was an insatiable flirt.

Twisting words to innuendo and feather light touches seemed to come as naturally to Caiwen Lavellan as magic did to him. So, he was not concerned whenever she practiced her skills with him.

He knew it was a fleeting dalliance to her and so he did not discourage it like he probably should have. He would watch her flit around Haven, at one turn babbling nonsense to Sera, earning her a mischievous glint in her fellow archer's eye, and at the next she was reveling in the various shades of pink she could turn the Knight Commander's face. Even Cassandra, who Solas was certain had adverse preferences in romantic partners, was not free from the elf's quick wit and fluttering lashes. It was good this way, better than if she had eyes and words only for him.

The sharp feeling in his throat whenever he heard booming laughter and not so subtle turns of phrase from The Iron Bull in the tavern next door was something he could dismiss as inconsequential. He observed her, not out of jealousy for that would be ridiculous even for him, but out of scientific curiosity. It amazed him how she seemed so confident with all their comrades. She instinctually knew what each one wanted to hear.

And that included himself, he was forced to admit.

When she came to him in Haven, or by the dying fire in camp (an occurrence that was becoming so frequent, he had trouble falling asleep without the routine) she was exactly the kind of vision, of spirit he found appealing. He had to admit her act was flawless. Every question she asked him was thought provoking and when he inevitably went on one of his lengthy tangents she was perfect at schooling her face into that of someone hanging on his every word. But then she would mull over what he had said and form new inquiries in response to some minor detail he mentioned in the middle of his lecture and it seemed like maybe...she really was interested in what he said. In him.

But no, she was young and vibrant and wise beyond her years and he was getting old and stoic and harsh with his words at times. He couldn't hold her eye even if he wanted to.

"I brought you a gift." She exclaimed one day, sauntering up to his quarters in Haven. "It's armor. Well a robe. I hope it fits." She suddenly seemed shy, unsure of herself and it was so unlike her he was momentarily struck by the sight.

"I thought of crafting you a staff but then I remembered Tariel - oh um my cousin of sorts, he's the clan's First - anyway he always said something about the staff chooses the mage so...so I figured armor was a better bet. Light so you can move around and do your...staff twirling thing. Creators, I promise I'm not usually this-"

"Be still,  _lethallan_. I love it." She stilled at the endearment and for a moment he was afraid he had been too forward...but they were friends by now were they not? But then she smiled. Brilliantly. All teeth and breathy joy and she was...laughing?  
  
"Sorry. Nerves. I'm glad." Nerves? He saw her face down a terror demon alone without flinching. What could possibly make her nervous about this interaction? "Anyway I lined it with fennec fur, its getting colder and that..." she trailed off looking at his plain clothing.

"I believe your new Tevinter friend referred to my garb as...hobo apostate." That earned him a giggle.

"Yes well, as much as it suits you, I can't have you catching frost bite. Oh! And when we were on the Storm Coast I found this metal..." He listened to her excitedly spout off the properties of her crafting agents and how they would enhance certain aspects of his magic as he fingered the coat. It was a rich blue that fell to his knees, intricate buttons and stitching lining the opening, and had pauldrons in the green-gold metal she was raving about. How long had this taken her?

"Solas?" She had asked him a question judging by the look she gave him. She gestured to the robe and realized she was asking him to try it on. It slid on comfortably, too comfortably given the fact that he didn't think she ever measured him for this. He made a few testing movements and realized she was right. He could still move to cast freely and...he was warm. So delightfully warm.

"So? Is it good?"

He looked back up to her and that same vulnerable look from before was back and he felt a lump in his throat. She should not allow herself to be vulnerable, especially not around him.

"It's...how...when did you find time to make something like this?" A small smile full of pride tugged at her lips.

"In between scouting missions. It normally wouldn't have taken me so long but trying to sew up here...I felt my fingers would fall off into the snow at times.

"But...this clearly took skill. Why were you not a craftsman in your clan?"

He suddenly realized this was his chance to break the illusion. He had avoided trying to learn more about her before in an attempt to keep himself comfortably detached. But if he learned about the real her, who the Dalish had truly raised, maybe it could stop the dull ache he felt when she shared her smiles with someone else.

"When I came of age Master Loren already had an apprentice." Her face fell a little from the memory. "The clan needed more hunters and I was decent with a bow even then...so that's what I became." She seemed comfortable enough with the outcome but the care and precision in the design of his new gift belied a true passion.

"That seems rather unfair."

"Yes well...for the Dalish its different. People forget...everything we do is for the clan's survival. Its why I became Master Ellana's apprentice, its why they sent me here." He was surprised at her practicality, but he still could not help the feeling that it was an injustice.

"Never really lost the desire though." Her lips tugged upward, smiling at whatever she saw with the far off look in her eyes. "I kept pestering Loren to teach me every little thing he did. He made a deal with me. If the clan was well fed and I brought him materials I found on our hunts, he would teach me how to craft. While others were reveling in drink or dance or each other, I was studying." She ran a hand over her vallaslin absent-mindedly. "It's why my Keeper chose June's vallaslin for me, rather than Anruil's."

He wanted to tell her she was so much more than the slave markings on her face, that she was so much more than...everything.But he could not, it would reveal too much of his mind to her...and to himself. So instead he continued his probing.

"Is it also why you're still unbonded?" That seemed to startle her and a soft rosy color flooded her dark cheeks. It was a delightful sight, he quietly admitted to himself.

"That...among other reasons."

"Which are?" She shot him a look, both coy and cautious. "You're worse than Keeper Deshanna. I think you may be taking the inquiring part of the inquisition too literally, Solas."

"I apologize if my line of questioning was out of-"

"No! No...it's just..." She pinched her nose and sighed, apparently trying to choose her words carefully. "I was never really the most marriage worthy woman in my clan. When I was young...even now I tower over most of the other girls in my clan and my body..." What could possibly be wrong with _her_ body? She was taller than most modern elves sure, but still small compared to most humans and definitely the elves of old. "I was always more masculine. The way I walk, my voice, and I was always covered in scrapes and bruises and mud." 

He let his eyes rake over her form, but only for the sake of contributing to the conversation. But as his eyes scanned her strong, lithe frame and the soft curves visible even under the leather coat and rams wool scarf, and  _that behind_ , he couldn't help his response. 

"I don't think anyone would mistake you for a man,  _lethallan_." 

That lovely rose color sprung to her face again and he could not stop the smug feeling it gave him to cause such a reaction in her.

"That's not what I meant," she grumbled. "I had lovers, just no one ever took a serious romantic interest in me. Or I them to be honest. Had I not been next in line to be the leader of the hunts...well Keeper Deshanna would probably be threatening to marry me off at the next gathering of clans."

He had entered dangerous waters now but her life was like a siren's call and he couldn't turn away from the temptation to delve deeper than was safe. 

"Well that strengthens my theory that the Dalish are foolish people." Before the flicker of anger in her eyes had a chance to catch he explained, "That so many took such an astounding creature such as yourself for granted is a tragedy of the worst kind."

He didn't have time to admonish himself for indulging before she let out a surprised laugh that she quelled with a roll of her eyes. The heated way she glanced at him, however, both terrified and thrilled him to his core.

"Ok sweet talker. With lines like that, how have you kept the lady apostates at bay?"

A low chuckle rose from his throat. She was sizing him up now. Well this wasn't the plan. The truth was, back in the days of Arlathan he had had a host of lovers. Courtly intrigue and secret trysts were favorite pastimes of his, when he was young and did not yet feel the weight of the world upon his back. 

"I have had my fair share of fun in my youth." This earned him another eye roll.

"Why do you always talk about yourself like you're mere years away from meeting the Creators? You can't be much older than me, and I am hardly past my prime." She smiled wryly up at him and he felt himself returning the look, a rumble of heat coursing through his stomach...and lower. He should turn back now. Flirtation was one thing but this...desire she inspired in him was bound to lead down a road he could not travel.

"I'm too old to be playing games with you, that is for certain." 

"Who said I was playing anything?" She shot back coyly. "Besides, I though you liked a good puzzle."

And with that she turned from him and headed towards the Tavern, and he was sure he was not imagining the extra sway in her hips before she turned to him once more.

"Enjoy the armor... _lethallin._ " 

As Tavern door shut behind her he could not help but notice he his mission had backfired. Instead of growing disinterested, that coy smile and those daring amber eyes haunted his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep over his desk of books, the robe she had made him draped comfortably over his shoulders. 

He did note with some satisfaction that there was no loud drunken flirtations flowing from the Tavern full of mercenaries tonight. And for just a moment, a brief second before he drifted to the Fade, he let himself enjoy the idea of those heated looks and flushed cheeks being a sight meant only for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flirt with everyone one in Haven. Every. One.
> 
> Mean it with the one you really care about.


	6. Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen deals with Redcliffe by clearing her mind, to varying degrees of success.

Redcliffe had changed her, somehow. She couldn't discern the source directly but she new as soon as she jumped through that portal with Dorian that there had been a shift.

Her friends noticed it too. Iron Bull tried to smooth tensions over the same way he usually did, with ale. No matter how much of the bitter human drink she swallowed however, she still saw him as he was in the future. Skin crackling red, eye hollow and resigned to his fate. It was all she could do to stand looking at him grinning over his larger than life mug filled to the brim with foam, and not see him running out of that hall with Leliana and Solas to sacrifice their lives. 

 _My life is yours_.

The way Solas had said that to her when she found him withering away in that cell, the red lyrium pushing at his skin and riving him all but mad...the memory sent an ache through her entire body.

"Sorry we don't have any of your elfy flower wine, Herald, but you don't have to stick your nose up at what we regular people line our guts with." Sera slurred, sloshing her mug over the bar at Caiwen.

"It's really not that. And it's dandelion wine, by the way." Her heart lurched at the reminder of home and suddenly it was all she craved. The wine, the smiling faces over a roasting dinner, and the dancing oh lord the dancing.

As if on cue the bard started up a rather high tempo jig. Her eyes lit up and she jumped off the stool, a little shakily she could admit. Maybe that ale was a bit stronger than she realized.

"Hey! Dorian!" She waved at the Tevinter sitting alone in the corner. He seemed almost as scarred as she felt. At least there was someone who understood, even if she did barely know him. "Do you dance in Minrathous?"

"Not if I can avoid it." He quipped back, but she saw the interested gleam in his eye and saw the empty glasses in front of him. He was drowning his sorrows as well.

"Well here you cannot. Avoid it I mean. Come, dance with me." She pulled him to his feet and they both stumbled towards the open space. 

"I don't think this dance is anything like the ones in Minrathous," he commented wryly as she twirled them around hopped in time to the beat.

"Who would want to dance like a stuffy magister? Tonight we dance like the Dalish." She broke away from him then, raising her arms and nodding for him to follow suit. They circled one another like prey, her kicking and hopping around and him trying to copy her movements, albeit belatedly. As he started to get the hang of it, the pace picked up and she hooked arms with him, twirling both of them around until she broke away, laughing breathlessly as she hopped towards Bull and tugged on his massive arm.

"I'm not much of a dancer, boss." He protested half heartedly. She ignored him and joined her hands in both of her partners' and they were moving in circles and jumping and turning until they started to feel dizzy. 

"Sera your turn!" Caiwen laughed, running towards the other archer as Bull talked Krem and some of the others into forming a new circle.

"I don't want anything to do with your elfy elf dances," she started, sloshing her ale in Caiwen's direction but soon enough they were both on the floor, weaving in between the groups of mercenaries and soldiers and newly acquired mage allies all laughing and breathing heavily. It didn't matter that the steps weren't quite right or the music was foreign to her. In that moment, she felt at home. This wasn't her clan...but dancing with these people made her forget the weight she carried and the horrors she witnessed, and at least for a time she was the carefree Dalish girl she once was. 

"You do realize you're all completely sloshed, right?" Varric tossed from his barstool after politely turning down her invitation to dance, but he grinned at her knowingly, quill in hand. "You kids have fun without me. I'm content watching for now."

And so it went. The Tavern was alight with music and laughter until one by one everyone started heading off to bed, leaving the Herald behind, breathless and grinning.

Eventually she picked herself up off her perch, with no small amount of effort, and swayed out the door towards her quarters.

She stopped as she saw him there, standing in the spot he frequented during the day, now bathed in moonlight. Solas.

_My life is yours._

The memory of him in that horrid future flooded her senses and her smile began to fade. No. She would not dwell on things that did not happen.

But they did happen, for her if no one else, and they could again if she didn't get this right.

" _Lethallan_." He nodded in her direction, still leaning against the door frame. She noted with some satisfaction she was wearing the robe she had fastened for him weeks prior. 

"Solas. What are you still doing up? I thought for sure you'd be deep into the Fade by now." 

"I normally would be, but I heard such a commotion from next door I had a mind to look myself. You move with grace, _da'len_ , even when your partners may not."  
  
She felt heat rise to her face. "Oh, you saw that?"

She saw a smirk grow on his face in the dim torchlight.

"I saw some. Not any choreography I recognize from my travels but you all seemed to enjoy yourself so I supposed the steps are not as important as the spirit of the dance."

"I had to clear my mind..." she said softly and his smile faltered as he lowered his gaze. "It seemed like the least destructive way at the time though I'm pretty sure Sera knocked a couple chairs over." 

"You are certain you experienced time travel? Could it have been an illusion? A trick of the Fade?" He probed softly. He was dancing around the story she told them of the future, she was certain, to avoid upsetting her further, but at the same time could not contain his curiosity. It was a trait in him that she recognized in herself. At the same time when she closed her eyes she saw that sick red from the lyrium, pushing at her friends' skin, trying to rip them apart. And then their sacrifice...

"No." She said firmly, more sure of this than she had been of anything for quite some time. "No, it was real."

"Point taken." He nodded slowly, and she was relieved he took her at her word. Everyone else she talked to about it just riddled her with more questions. Except for Dorian. He seemed to want to avoid thinking about the ordeal as much as she did.

"It is vital the Inquisition succeed, to avoid the future you witnessed."

"No pressure or anything."

He faltered, suddenly unsure of himself and a pang of regret shot through her at her flippant response. She didn't mean to make him uncomfortable.

"That it not what I meant,  _lethallan_."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know...I know...I just...It seems the dancing did not quite do the trick. I need to clear my mind further." She stopped then, suddenly filled with an idea. "Want to accompany me for some target practice?"

He shot her a confused look. "Now? It is quite late Herald, or early I should say."

She could not stop the grin that spread across her face as he grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the practice area where Cullen's soldiers' often resided.

"Perfect."

* * *

 

She may have still been tipsy but as she fired three arrows in quick succession she felt more grounded than she had in weeks. As one hit the center of the large round target, the other two grouped closely around the first, all quivering deliciously in the center rung. She turned to her partner, beaming, and held out the bow to him.

"Your turn."

He kept his arms folded, looking at her like she was insane, which at this point could very well be true. "I am no archer,  _da'len_."

"And I am no child,  _hahren_." She continued to hold the bow out and he continued to refuse it. She threw her head back and sighed. "You're not going to embarrass yourself. Besides you need something to fall back on if your magic fails you."

"It won't. Besides I am quite capable with a sword if the need ever arises."

"Swords are no good unless you're heavily armored, which mages are not. You're already used to ranged fighting, this is just another more practical arm of that." When he still did not budge she rolled her eyes and shoved the bow into his chest. "Just humor me, okay?"

He reluctantly raised the weapon, cocking the arrow with only minor trouble, and released.

"Well...it hit the target!" She offered. Which was true. He made it on to the canvassed target...but barely. He huffed and as if to prove he was not totally incompetent raised his arm straight and shot a thin bolt of lightning. It hit between her three arrows, blasting them so they snapped at the middle.

She fought the urge to admonish him for wasting arrows and instead she held his arm where it was still pointed.

"See? This is what you need. Form. Here watch me again."

She took the bow from him and this time moved slowly so he could watch all her adjustments.

"Cock the arrow, pull towards your face so it doesn't fall. Three fingers under the arrow, loose grip on the bow. Pull back, thumb rests under your chin. Firing elbow raised. Now adjust your other arm, elbow parallel to the ground. Line up your strings. Breathe. Fire."

The arrow fell squarely into the scorch mark left behind from his magic. She turned back to Solas and he as studying her carefully, though she could not help but feel it was far more than a student would.

"I knew your craft took skill...I did not know it required so many steps. No wonder you do this to clear your mind. You truly have an indomitable focus."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Indomitable?"

"I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine such a sight would be..." He smiled at her then, predatorily and she felt the slight heat from her drink pool suddenly in her face. "fascinating."

The heat shot down to her groin and she fought the urge to jump him right there. Sure he was an attractive man and sure they had flirted and sure he was the most interesting person she had some across in her short life but...something told her this was not like one of her flings back home. She would not rush this, she would not ruin this. She would let him come to her at his own pace. Though by the way he was looking at her his pace might be faster than she had originally anticipated.

"Right. Well. That's not going to get you out of trying again."

His smile fell then into a growl but he obediently took the bow from her.

"Remember towards your face. Good. Don't release yet hold the stance." She started to adjust him like she would the young hunters in the clan, just preparing for their first venture into the wild.

"Elbow up." She raised his back arm, fingers ghosting over him as if she touched him for real he might disappear. "Good. Turn your other arm parallel to the ground-good!" She looked him over one more time. His stance was strong, he looked like a warrior, more muscled than she realized. The heat returned to her legs again but she ignored it. "Last note. Loosen your grip on the bow. More. more, like you're barely touching. Here like this."

She curled her fingers around his, really touching him for the first time that night. Her head pressed against his shoulder as she tried to focus on helping him aim. She felt his fingers loosen under her grip and she nodded. "Perfect." When did her voice get so low and quiet? "Now tilt your head, line up your strings....and shoot."

The arrow flew straight to where hers had landed, splitting the stem in two and lodging itself firmly into the other shot.

She turned to look at him, ready to celebrate, but he was looking at her and not the target. The heat she felt was in his gaze and she fought the urge to shiver. She realized belatedly she was still pressed up against him, hand over his. She let it drop and took an awkward step back, before walking up to the target to examine it. 

"See? I knew you had it in you." She managed to grin back at him as she pulled out he arrows one by one.

"It helps I have such an attentive teacher." He smiled back and the predatory look was gone but the heat in his eyes still lingered and she had to tell herself she was tipsy and tired and probably imagining it. 

"Just...promise me you'll practice. I don't...I'd rather not see you get hurt."

And with that she gathered her bow and headed towards her quarters. She would have enough time to sleep before the rest of the village started to stir with the first rays of sun. Or at least rest her head. She was not sure she would be able to sleep now. 

As she laid down her thoughts were still filled with him, but as she slowly drifted off the searing red eyes of the future morphed into the deep blue ones that scanned her every movement and it was a comfort.

She may have been changed, but maybe change was not all that bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basing Dalish dancing off of some videos I've seen of Scottish folk dances. Lots of partner work and hopping and kicking and turning... it seemed very Dalish tome.
> 
> Also I took an archery class and MAN there are a lot of things to remember before you shoot a single arrow. And I like the idea of Solas being decent at hand to hand combat (as a rebel leader you need something to fall back on in fights) but relatively rubbish at anything else that doesn't involve magic.


	7. Heartbeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven Falls and so does the Herald. Skyhold rises and so does the Inquisitor.

It was all his fault.

Corypheus, the Breach, and now this. She was gone and hope was lost.

He had been too busy getting refugees to the mountain pass, he should have been watching her but how could he have known she would have done something so reckless? So...selfless.

"Where is she?" She had hurled at Cullen when he finally realized she was not in the group of frightened survivors trudging their way in the snow and dark. The former Templar only shook his head and looked back towards the fallen village. 

"You let her go?!" He was yelling, he felt his anger rising, his usual control too busy fighting with abject panic to keep the snarl from his voice.

"She wanted to give us all a chance. Solas, you know there is no stopping her when she makes up her mind."

"What kind of chance do we have without her? This was foolish, I'm going after her." Before Cullen could stop him he was running down the path and through the Chantry. It didn't take long for him to spot the dragon. And with the dragon was Corypheus, dangling Caiwen from his grasp like a rag doll. He was too late. 

The monster threw her against the trebuchet and he thought that was it. But then she stood and...grabbed a sword? What was she doing? She didn't know how to wield something like that.

He wanted to scream, to call out her name, to do  _anything_. But all he could do was look on in horror, powerless and weak from his sleep as he was, as she raised the blade above her head. He knew in that moment what she was doing. And he ran. 

As he retraced his steps up the path he could feel the rumbling of the avalanche around them, miraculously missing the refugees trudging their way to relative safety. It was only when they made a pathetic recreation of camp that the doubt and fear began to creep in.

She was gone and it was his fault.

He should have gone after her. But no he would have been too late and then they both would have been buried in the snow. 

And yet he still couldn't stop imagining scenarios where he could have saved her, somehow. He knew it was hopeless, knew logically she was gone forever and still he let himself slip into the Fade to frantically look for any signs of life from her. He had forbid himself from seeking her out there before now, but he always felt her presence nudging at him. But now there was nothing. Which meant she was conscious...or dead. 

He would not let himself think on that any longer. She had to live, there was not plan without her. That was why he needed her. She had his power in her hand.

But then he remembered how she stopped to help every trapped refugee on her way to the Chantry after the dragon attacked. He remembered her smile when she made jokes at Cassandra's expense. He remembered her laugh as she danced, drunk on ale as well as joy, with Dorian and Bull. He saw her by the fire as real as if he could reach out and touch her, ready to ask him as many questions as she could fit in one breath. He remembered her soft touch as she corrected the way he held a bow, the secret smile she seemed to save for only him...

And he knew he had to find her. There was simply no other option.

With what little strength he had left he let the tendrils of his magic score over the landscape, looking for familiar bodies. And then he found them.  Wolves. His namesake. It was a power he had not drawn upon in centuries, one he did not like to resort to using, but now, with her missing...it seemed like the only thing he could do. He focused, forced his magic to manage this one last feat...and they were howling. He sunk back in his cot. That was all he could do for her. If she followed their sounds...she would find her way back to him.

* * *

 

"There! She's alive!"

Solas' eyes snapped open, but Cullen and the others were already running towards the hill where he saw a small hunched over figure. 

Before he knew it he was running. He met Cullen halfway and instructed him to lay her down in one of the tents. She was unconscious. 

"No fire! She's in shock if she warms too fast she'll die, leave me!" He shooed the prying eyes away and quickly set to work, hands gliding over her body checking for broken bones. Two ribs and her ankle but aside from that she was blessedly unharmed aside from scrapes and bruises. And her nose. It was broken, he could see that but he dared not try to set it before getting her circulation moving again. She was cold to the touch, turning a sick shade of blue.

He uncorked a healing potion with his teeth and carefully poured it into her mouth, holding her head gently as the liquid ran down her throat. Color immediately started to spring to her skin and he knew, though he was not a skilled healer, she would live. He set to work binding her chest, setting the ribs and ignoring the soft whimper of pain that slipped out of her lips, her eyes still fitfully closed tight. He gingerly wrapped her ankle, placing smashed elfroot between the bandages as a numbing agent, and sat back. Now her nose. He grabbed the bridge, numbed her as much as he could with what magic remained in in, and snapped. She cried out and his heart sank, but she still slept so he focused on controlling her fever instead of the dull panic that had not quite ebbed in the back of his mind. Her nose would always be a little crooked now but the bleeding from it stopped and he allowed himself to slink back in the chair as he alternated hot and cold magic from his hands on her face and neck.

She was alive. She was going to be ok. 

As he sat by her side long into the night those words repeated endlessly in his head until her breathing steadied and his eyes grew heavy once more. Only when Mother Giselle assured him of her capabilities to apply elfroot salve to her wounds did he allow himself to retire to his bedroll.

And he slept, dreamlessly, and for once it was a welcome relief. 

* * *

 He awoke to singing. 

He wandered out of his tent, his first thought to seek her out and then - there she was, standing looking bewildered in the middle of her kneeling charges. Their voices raised together, beautifully, in a song unfamiliar to both of them. But the intention was clear. They believed in her, they needed her.

And she knew it too, and she looked terrified. Suddenly he saw not the mighty warrior, fearless leader, they had all grown to see her as. Instead he saw a young woman, lost, with too much weight on her shoulders, and his heart lurched.

He knew what he had to to.

"A word?" He brushed past her, resisting the urge to check her over for any lingering injuries (why was she moving around already?) , and walked to the edge of camp where a single unlit torch was rooted. He called on some veilfire and looked back at her, and heavens was she beautiful. Her nose had set crooked and sweat still shone on her head but he had never seen a more welcome sight than her living, breathing, and standing in front of him. 

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting."

"I only wish I had been notified of their rehearsal, or at least seen some sheet music, I felt foolish not knowing the lyrics." She smiled slyly and tried to laugh but then winced, her hand flying to her bandaged ribs.

"Their faith is hard won,  _lethallin_ ," He continued, knowing he had to tell her as much as he could, but also wanting to hurry her back to rest. "Worthy of pride...save for one detail." She walked up to him then, head tilted as it did when she was hanging on his every word. Her shoulder brushed his and he didn't know if he shivered from the cold or the contact. He had to focus, he could not give too much away. "The threat Corypheus carries? The orb he wields? It is...ours." The look she shot him was full of confusion and he took a deep breath and continued, trying to sound as naive as possible while still informing her of the essentials. 

"He used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived and we must prepare ourselves for the people's reaction...when they learn the orb is of our people." He watched her expression fall and he couldn't help the nagging feeling that he was using her. Of course he was using her that was always the plan, ever since she showed up with his magic in her hand. But seeing her like this, his heart felt heavy in different way.

"Alright." He watched as her resolve strengthened, she nodded to herself and looked up at him eagerly. "What is it and how do you know about it." Always ready to tackle a new problem, she was. It must be exhausting being her.

"Such thing were foci," He explained carefully, "Said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our Pantheon."

"I thought you did not believe in the Creators, Solas."

He paused, trying to school his face into neutrality but she was scanning him now and he couldn't help but feel uneasy. "I believe such figures existed at one time, though I do not worship them as gods." She nodded, seemingly taking that as an acceptable answer and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory from the fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ Elvhen and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

She glanced back towards camp, faint laughter echoed through the snow and campfire flickered warmly among the tents, but her face was grim. Her teeth worried her lower lip and eventually she sighed defeatedly and turned back to him. "Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they'll find a way to blame elves."

"I suspect you are right. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies." The tactic fell surely from his lips; it was the approach he himself had been taking for months. "Faith in you is shaping in this moment, but needs room to grow. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it, changed you." He paused, taking her in by the pale veilfire light, and briefly wondered if it was true. The way the humans saw her had shifted yes, but had she been changed from this ordeal? Had she always been this steady unbreakable force, full of curiosity and intelligence, kindness and patience when needed but fire, stubbornness and a temper that could match his own when provoked. Was it her, or was it magic in her hand. 

"Scout to the north, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. It is a place where the Inquisition can build...grow..."

She was facing him fully now, eyes alight and ears at attention, and he knew he had her. 

"Skyhold."

* * *

She refused to rest properly. Even when they convinced her to stay away from field missions until her ribs were fully healed, ("You need to help the people settle in to Skyhold. They need someone to guide them." Josephine had nudged softly) she flitted around the impossibly large hold checking in on everyone's progress. Most of the time he could find her next to Cole, the oddball spirit of Compassion. While everyone else on the team seemed to mistrust him, she welcomed him, though she did persuade him to hold back on the mercy killings. He would be easing the final pain of a dying soldier, while she was three paces away helping the healers apply herbal salves to those who could be saved. 

He watched her as she worked, ignoring her own pain, obvious to him though she put on a brave face for those that did not know her as well. Her hands were deft at healing, surprisingly so for someone with no magical talent. He supposed leading a hunt for days on end required one to be able to stitch up one's companions, but it was still an interesting development for his study of her character. When she wasn't healing she was helping grow the necessary herbs in the hold's garden, joking that she was finally living up to her name as maiden of the hedge.

All in all things seemed to be going smoothly. That is, until they named her Inquisitor.

It had been a surprise to her, apparently, though he had no idea how since she was the obvious choice. Her advisors had gathered everyone around the grand staircase as they presented her with the title. From the ground he could see her brow furrow as she hissed some quiet words of protest, which the humans deftly ignored. 

As she finally raised the sword high above her head, her voice boomed over the crowd. "I am an elf standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for all." 

Amidst the cheering crowd, riled up by Cullen, she disappeared. No one seemed to mind, they got the symbol they were looking for; no one was heeding mind to the elf, the woman, behind it.

Except for him. 

He found her in the garden, talking to the seedlings, something the herbalist told her helped the plants grow though he thought that was a load of horse dung.

"They think because I'm an elf that has risen so far, Andraste must smile upon me. I swear if I have to hear one more bloody word about being Andraste's herald when they can see the vallaslin clear as day on my face I'm going to-Solas!" 

He could not help but smirk at her flushed face, heated in anger but slowly dulling to embarrassment. "Please, do not let me interrupt you."

"I was just....venting to the seeds. It sounds pretty stupid when I say it out loud." Her ears drooped and her fiddled with her thumbs, clearly still agitated.

"If you need a confidant who is a little more responsive, I'd be happy to oblige." He sat on the stone bench next to her. She looked at him warily then dropped her head with defeated sigh.

"I have no idea how I got here." She admitted, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was a gesture he was becoming increasingly familiar with.  "I've all but given up on reminding this circus of shemlin that I do not worship the same entities that they do. I'm flattered they want me to lead, terrified but flattered but..."

"You feel as though your identity is not your own?" Her head snapped up and her eyes met his in surprise. He was familiar with her turmoil. Fen'Harel had always been bigger than him, bigger than the man at the heart of the wolf. And now? His whole being was reduced to a warning in tales told to children to make them behave. 

"Yes...that's exactly right."

He nodded wordlessly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have friends who know your heart, never forget that. You do not need to bend yourself until you break, trying to fit into their mold of a hero. "

Her hand fell on top of his still resting on her shoulder. "Thank you, Solas." 

Her hand fell then and he felt the loss immediately. He lingered in his own point of contact on her shoulder, before he stood to exit.

"There are some things I need to address in the Emerald Graves, once I'm healed...I'd appreciate it if you came with me. There's sure to be a lot of Elvhen ruins...it would be nice to have at least one person in the party who would appreciate them."

"It would be my honor, Inquisitor."

The smile that finally graced her face before he turned away was a trophy he would hold in his mind for days to come. 


	8. Touch of Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen clears up some misinterpretation of Dalish beliefs, and Solas clears his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short fluff, with just a hint of sexual content (don't worry the real stuff will come), to bridge into some Fade action

The Emerald Graves reminded her of home, minus the giants.

The lush forest was perfect for finding ingredients for the 'accidentally administered' poisons in Val Royeaux to her agents. By the end of the day they had plenty of nugskin (thanks to her hunting and skinning efforts) and rashvine (thanks to Solas). Dorian and Bull, who she had convinced to come along, served as their body guard and lookout, respectively, though by the end of the day Dorian's constant complaining about his talents being misspent on a scavenging mission was grating on her. She had grown pretty fond of the Tevinter mage but she wasn't used to having someone so...prissy on missions. Her fellow hunters certainly never complained about avoiding conflicts.

Of course, that was before they came across a particularly strong rift located deep into an Elvhen ruin.

She was almost certain she heard him cry 'I'm too pretty to die!' as a terror demon lunged at him. By the end of the fight they were all exhausted, except for Bull who was laugh/roaring as the carcass of the Pride demon he took down single handedly.

"Let's make camp here." She said, wiping blood off her sleeve, making sure it was not her own.

"Wonderful idea, best I've heard all day." Dorian was suddenly in a much better mood at the prospect of sleep. After they erected the two tents, Dorian claimed one as his own and started snoring rather loudly. Bull offered to share with him, and take the first watch. Which left her to share a tent with Solas.

He, of course, seemed unfazed as always. He started unrolling his bedroll and folding his things neatly beside it. Suddenly she felt very self conscious, a feeling that was happening far too often around the other elf. The thought of sleeping next to him felt overwhelming. She knew she was attracted to him, and as far as she was concerned she had made that abundantly clear. But Solas was increasingly difficult to read and she was beginning to think she was only embarrassing herself, throwing herself at someone who looked at her like a child to be guided.

"I'm going to explore the ruins a bit before bed." She spat out, turning and all but running from the tent before he could say a word.

She finally stopped to admire a wall with a rather unnerving painting. A group of elves with red eyes huddling together. She shuddered and lit a torch, looking around the chamber she wandered into. She almost jumped when she noticed the large wolf statue in the middle of the room. This was not the first she had come across in her time in the Graves, but now she had a moment to really examine it. Fen'Harel. The Dread Wolf. It was not odd for her to see a statue dedicated to him but the sheer number down south was extraordinary. She reached a timid hand up to touch the cool stone. The detail in carving the fur was magnificent, but not as wonderful as the eyes. Empty of irises but somehow the gaze was piercing, gazing over her shoulder to the next room. It seemed almost...protective.

"Careful,  _da'len_ , the Dread Wolf is not one you should let your guard down around." Her heart quickened, Solas had followed her. She did not turn to him though, instead she kept her eyes locked on the wolf, her hand roaming aimlessly over his stone pelt. 

"He's not all bad. He did a lot of good, you know, he was just...kind of an ass about it sometimes."

Solas laugh snorted, and the sound was so surprising and delightful she finally turned to look at him. He had a torch of veilfire in his hand, dressed in his simple garb that he donned around Skyhold or before he retired for the evening. "What are you doing here?"

"When you took off, I was concerned about you. We do not know what dwells here, what lurks these ruins at night. I came to make sure you did not have to fight them off alone." 

She felt the blush under her skin and the grin tugging at her lips. "Much appreciated, though I hardly think the statue poses much of a threat."

He was standing next to her now, shoulder brushing hers as he looked upon the stone wolf.

"I thought your people feared Fen'Harel. Is he not a cautionary tale to scare children into behaving."

"He's more a cautionary tale about being careful what you wish for. He has a habit of giving people exactly what they ask for...its only after something disastrous happens they realize it is not what they really needed." She turned to look at him but he was still gazing up at the statue, lost in thought. "What he teaches us is sometimes the heart wants what it cannot have...what is not good for it."

He looked at her then, eyes as piercing as the wolf towering above them.

"Besides," She continued on, breaking their eye contact after it became too much. "It's not like our other gods are infallible. Mythal, for instance, is at one turn a loving mother and at the other a cruel disciplinarian. Andruil hunts and provides, but sometimes the sport can be too much, too indulgent. If you hunt all the game in a forest, it cannot replenish itself. Everything the Dalish believe is rooted in balance."

"I...I never realized the Dalish thought that way."

"You never bothered to ask." He grew quiet at that. "I know you see us as some group of ignorant savages." He opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off, "Don't worry, most people do. We are used to it. And to be fair, there are some clans that live up to the name. But for the most part...we are people, just like you, or Cassandra or Varric, trying to make sense of the world." 

They fell into a comfortable silence, as she led him back to camp. They nodded at Bull who was already poised for his watch, and entered the tent. It was only after she had changed and settled into her bedroll that he spoke again.

"I'm sorry I misjudged your people. It was not fair to them...and it was not fair to you."

Soon enough their breathing slowed and they were both asleep.

* * *

 

She awoke on her own, the first bit of light had not yet shone through the tent, so it was still late. She stretched lazily and that was when she felt the hand on her hip.

Her breath hitched and her half lidded eyes snapped open, looking down at the slender pale fingers resting on the exposed skin at the hem of her sleeping shirt. Suddenly her skin felt as if it was on fire, but if she were being engulfed in flames it was the most exquisite burn she'd ever experienced. She waited a few moments before trying to untangle herself, which only led to the hand creeping along her hem even more, stopping at her stomach and pulling her so that her back was flush to Solas' chest. 

Her heart was beating rapidly, but her eyes were still so heavy. She laid awake, her eyes closed, for an impossibly long time, just focusing on the feeling of his skin on hers, until she finally relaxed. There was nothing she could do without waking him as well, and besides...it felt nice to be held.

* * *

 

Solas was frozen.

Dorian had kicked his foot, waking him for his watch. It would not be an event of note but he noticed Dorian's sly grin as he left the tent, and as Solas regained control of his senses he realized why.

Somehow, his sleeping body had betrayed him and his arm was draped over the Inquisitor. It would be bad enough leaving it at that but she was pressed firmly up against him, her soft curves pushing enticingly into his body and...gods he was half hard. He all but jumped away from her, the sudden movement eliciting a soft murmur from her lips, but she stayed blessedly asleep. 

At least he was the only one who knew about this indiscretion.

Well, he and Dorian. As if he wasn't insufferable enough already. 

He grabbed his robe and burst out of the tent, thanking whoever was listening for the cool breeze to soothe the pulsing hot blood in his veins. 

He knew sharing a tent with her was a bad idea. Any situation that put them in close proximity for an extended amount of time was beginning to turn into a dangerous temptation. 

He had allowed the flirtation between them to go on too long and now, without him realizing it, she had crept into his subconscious and beguiled him once again. He had fallen asleep musing over the revelation that the Dalish did not hate Fen'Harel like he had believed. It was such a relief hearing that he was not blindly despised by her people, by her, that he had allowed himself to drift into a dreamless sleep, without the normal meditation routine he did nearly every night. He should have known he could not trust his body around her. 

Even now his hand tingled thinking of the soft skin his fingers had grazed, the freckles on her hip he had seen as she pressed into him. 

No, he could not wander down this road. He knew from his time as a would be god that there was a difference between infatuation and a real connection, between lust and...something more. Perhaps if he had indulged himself sooner she would be but another warm body he could remember fondly on cold nights, someone he discarded painlessly before things got too real for them both.

But no, thinking on it now, her laugh, her steadfastness, her curiosity...there was no way he would not feel this pull to her even then. At least now he had the chance to deny the feeling. He could acknowledge it in himself and move on. She did not need to be dragged into his world of heartache and betrayal. She did not deserve that.

So instead he cleared his mind, half meditating, half keeping an ear tuned into the world around him, in an attempt to rid her from his thoughts.

It was only hours later, as the sun started to throw its first rays through the emerald tree line, that he started to feel an ounce of success. As soon as the thought crossed him mind however, it was dashed by the flap of an opening tent. 

He opened his eyes and saw her emerge, golden hair messed, eyes half closed still, and his breath hitched. Even in this state she was beautiful, and he found himself wishing he could see her when she first awoke, first shook off the blanket of sleep. 

She saw him and she smiled brighter than should be physically possible. "Solas! Did you sleep well, _lethallin_?" Her smile turned into a mischievous grin and he felt his heart constrict. She knew. 

But no, she was asleep when he left for his watch. She couldn't have known...right?

"Very peacefully, thank you. And yourself?" He trained his face into the most neutral expression he could manage as she sat by him and started her morning stretches. 

"Very comfortably thank you." She smiled again and her thought maybe he was in the clear. "You did not wake me for last watch."

"I did not grow tired again and I felt it was better to let you rest, rather than us both being awake."

"I like being awake with you." She smirked and grabbed her bow and headed back into the ruins, ready to finish her stretching and start her practice shots. He almost breathed a sigh of relief until she turned to face him as she reached the edge of camp.

"You know, Solas, if you wanted to embrace me, you only had to ask." And she was gone, her giggle echoing in his ear long after she was out of earshot.

 _Fenedhis_.


	9. Fade Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all

Solas was avoiding her.

Ever since that first night in the Emerald Graves he had stayed at least five paces away from her and the lack of physical contact was driving her crazy. He still shielded her in battle, examined ruins and glyphs by her side, gathered herbs when she asked, but he would not come near her. He started sharing a tent with Dorian when he had to, and offered to take watch when they were back with the scouts and he didn't need to.

She should have taken that as a clear sign but she remembered how he looked at her when he thought she was not paying attention, how he had pulled her closer when she tried to slide away from him in the tent, how she felt him pressed against her, pushing softly into her behind with his crotch before untangling himself from her and hurrying out of the bedroll.

He wanted her. She was certain of it, but something was holding him back and she was tired of waiting.

She found him in the rotunda back in Skyhold, intending to just confront him directly when she saw the paintings on the wall and stopped. The style was unlike anything she had seen, but at the same time oddly familiar to her. She reached up and touched the dry plaster, admiring the vibrant colors and smooth texture.

"It's called fresco. An old technique I discovered during my time in the Fade." 

She had almost forgotten her task until he spoke but as soon as she looked at him, smiling proudly at his work, wiping a sealing agent off of his hands, she felt the dull ache that had been pulsing in her for weeks. 

"It's beautiful," was all she could manage.

"Yes, well, I wanted to properly document your adventures. I know you've been worried about your identity being twisted...I wished to help, in what small way I can." He was smiling down at her fondly, still keeping that infuriating space between them, though his eyes burned through her in a way more intimate that any touch. She strengthened her resolve, and stepped towards him.

"I'm interested in what you've told me of yourself and your studies. If you have time, I'd like to hear more." She took a deep breath and boldly took his hand in hers, still staring up at him daring him to break away.

Instead he looked at their intwined hands, as if in a daze, then back up at her face. He seemed to be arguing with himself, and she was afraid he would pull back one again when he sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

"You...continue to surprise me." His smile fell and he pulled his hand from hers, returning to his normal stance, looking troubled and stiff once more. Before she could panic, however, he nodded. "Very well...let's talk. But preferably somewhere more interesting than this."

 

* * *

 

He took her to...Haven? It seemed like an odd choice, there wasn't anything particularly exciting about the place, that she could recall.

"Why here?" She voiced, trudging up the steps behind him as they made their way to the Chantry.

"Haven is familiar," He said matter of factly, "It will always be important to you."

"We already talked about that." She said impatiently. They had, she was sure of it, right? She shook her head, she came here for a reason and she would not be distracted.

Apparently she was failing at that task because she didn't notice they were in the dungeons until he stopped short in front of her.

"I said beside you as you slept, studying the Anchor." He nodded towards the cell that she had woken up in, seemingly ages ago. 

She remembered how abrasive everything had been when she awoke, the accusatory looks that everyone threw at her. Until she met him. The thought of him caring for her eased the memory and she smiled. "I'm glad someone was watching over me."

"You were a mystery," he tore his eyes away from the cell and looked at her with those piercing blue eyes and he smiled, a wider more genuine smile than she had seen since that first day. "You still are." His smile softened into a shy glance and he led her away again. "I ran every test I could imagine. Searched the Fade for answers, yet found nothing."

And there was that troubled look again, as if she were still a puzzle he was trying desperately to solve. 

"Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I did not start producing results."

She snorted at that, imagining the Seeker fitting him with that same accusatory glance she had seen when they first met. Though terrifying at the time, knowing Cassandra now made the situation almost comical. The hardened warrior facade was not quite the same when she found out about the Seeker's soft spot for raunchy love stories.

"Cassandra is like that with everyone."

He laughed freely at that and she could not hide the smug sense of pride from getting such a rare sound from him. 

He was leading her out of the Chantry again (when did they leave the dungeon?) and she followed quickly behind him. 

"You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade." He turned to her again, his face knotted up in something between fear and frustration. "I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by he Breach." He looked guiltily at his feet then, looking back up at her through his dark lashes before he spoke again.

"Although I wanted to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I was ready to flee."

She couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of such a notion. "The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?"

"Someplace far away where I could research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me." He smirked at himself as she snorted again. "I never said it was a good plan."

He turned away from her and reached towards the sky at the glowing gigantic tear in the Veil. Wait. Didn't they close that?

"I told myself one more attempt to seal the rifts caused by the Breach." He reached out at it, like he had taught her to so long ago, before he arm fell defeatedly at his side."I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, prepared myself to flee and then..."

He turned to look at her and any doubts about Haven vanished from her mind. He looked at her with such a combination of fear and hope and admiration that it knocked the wind right out of her. She had never seen him so vulnerable. 

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation." The words echoed in her head, a memory of their shared experience, his hand on her wrist, the rift bending around their will.

"You had sealed it with a gesture...and right then I felt the whole world change."

"Felt the whole world change?"He gazed at her longingly again before realizing what he said and she could almost  _see_ the mask falling back into place. No, she was not going to let him retreat now.

"A figure of speech."

She took a step towards him, refusing to break eye contact. "I'm aware of the metaphor. I'm more interested in the 'felt'." He took a step back and she took one forward. She would dance this dance with him but she would not let him hide, not now. He seemed to sense her resolve and lost whatever battle he was fighting with himself. 

"You change...everything." His voice trembled over the word and she knew, he wanted this as badly as she did.

"Sweet talker." She took his hand in her own again, and as he started to look away caught his chin with her other hand, turning his face to hers and crashing her lips onto his. 

And then...nothing. Oh Creators he wasn't kissing her back. How had she misread the situation so badly?!

She pulled away and started to give into the childish urge to run, but he shook his head and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him and pressing his lips firmly on hers. His hands went to her waist and pulled her flush agains him as he ran his tongue along he upper lip, asking for entry that she readily granted. Her hands went to his neck as he eagerly darted his tongue into her. She bit softly down on his lower lip as he pulled his face away to look at her, and she felt the unmistakable twitch pressed against her thigh as he shook his head one more and kissed her again, quickly this time but with so much force she thought she would topple over if he was not holding her up.

And suddenly he was gone, his hands slipping from her waist and her lips suddenly cold where they had been  _so hot_ moments before.

"We shouldn't." His face looked pained when she opened her eyes. "It isn't right. Not even here."

Through her indignation she heard his words and suddenly every little thing that didn't make sense about this place came rushing back to her.

"What do you mean, 'even here'?"

He smirked at her, those delicious lips quirked up just so. "Where did you think we were?"

"This...isn't real." She didn't know how they got there, the weird time jumps the opened Breach...it was starting to make sense.

"A matter of debate, probably best discussed after you...wake up."

* * *

 

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up straight. She was in her bed, when did that happen? The sounds of people milling about in the main hall wafted into her room, and judging by the sun glaring into her room through the balcony it was already mid morning, though the last thing she remembered was talking to Solas in the rotunda in the early evening.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog that clouded her mind. Had that been a dream or...had he really visited her in the fade? She was no mage, and lucid dreaming was not something she was accustomed to or even aware she could do. But...it had been so real. 

Her fingers traced her lips, dry and soft though they should be swollen and wet. It...it had to be real. If it had not, she would not have let him back away so easily. 

No, that kiss was definitely real and they had definitely not resolved anything. 

So she dressed, hurriedly, just enough to look presentable, and bolted down the stairs. As she was about to enter the rotunda, Josephine spotted her.

"Inquisitor! Will you please meet us in the war room? We have...something delicate to discuss."

She sighed, her hand falling away from the handle. "Of course, I'll be there in a moment." She gave the door one last glance and followed her ambassador into the back room.

"What crisis presented itself today?" She sighed, placing her hands on the large wooden table with the mad of Thedas spread across it.

"We have received a letter from your Keeper."

Well that certainly perked her up. She felt her ears perk and she shot her head up at Leliana. "Keeper Deshanna? What does she say?"

Josephine shifted on her feet. It seemed her ambassadorial talents began and ended with nobles, Dalish clans were not something she was accustomed to dealing with.

"They seem to think you are still a prisoner of ours."

"We could send some troops to assure them of your success." Cullen offered. All three women in the room shot him a look of disbelief. "What?"

"Or. We could contact them if you wish, send some agents and gifts to quell their fears. With a letter from you of course."

She smiled brightly. "Wonderful idea Josephine! I'll begin penning a letter as soon as possible."

Josephine bristled with pride that her suggestion was taken, and Cullen still looked baffled.

"Well, if that's all I'll be-"

"Oh no, Inquisitor, we still have much to discuss. Now have you ever been to the Exalted Plains?"

Caiwen sighed and settled in for a long morning. Confronting Solas would have to wait.

* * *

 Solas lingered in the Fade after expelling her mind. He needed time to process. More time that was readily available, it would seem. 

He touched his lips absent-mindedly, and he felt a tug as his chest.

It felt so real. She was so soft and willing, and gods did she taste wonderful. He knew, logically, that this was his desires projecting themselves upon her. There was no way she could live up to them in the waking world. And yet, he could not stop the grand smile that split his lips, could not quell the hunger he felt for more. 

It was dangerous thoughts to think in the Fade, he knew. In an effort to avoid any demons of desire he awoke himself, eyes fluttering open as he sat up slowly on the couch in his study. 

This was bad. The joy in his heart was battling with the fact that he knew this could not continue. It would be better to end this now, while he still had some clarity about him. He knew he could not have her and fulfill his plan.

His plan to tear down the Veil.

It would destroy this world. It would, very likely, destroy her.

And, just like that, for the first time since he awoke from that centuries long slumber, he felt doubt. Before her, he saw the waking world as a hell he had damned his people too. Grey and silent and lifeless as the creatures within it. But she could not be of such a world. She as color and laughter and life...she had so much life that the thought of it ending abruptly was particularly grotesque. 

She was...so real. Even in the Fade, her touch bored into him and her kiss still seared on his lips in such a way that he could not move without picturing her beneath him. And if she could be so real...what of the rest of the world?

No, better to end this now. There was no way that moment in the Fade would mean as much to her as it did to him...she would not even be able to comprehend it. And surely if this continued any longer they would both end up disappointed. 

And so he had steeled himself to break it off, if she even registered what had happened. Would she simply think it was a particularly odd dream? Would she even wake remembering it? She had not come to see him the whole morning. Surely she had to remember, so, if that was not it...was she herself opposed to the idea of him? The stray thought pained him more than it should, seeing as he intended to take this no further any way. 

Before he could fully unpack that thought process, she was barging into he rotunda, no preamble needed. Amber eyes bored into his, determination lighting them ablaze, her teeth pulling at those soft lips and her hands balled up by her side. He knew there was no steering her from whatever her course of action would be, and for a moment he allowed himself to believe that she could accomplish anything through pure stubbornness. It was a though that brought a sly smile to his face.

"Sleep well?"

"When I asked you to talk I didn't think we'd be doing it in the Fade," She replied, eyebrow quirked at him, though he could tell she was amused. "Or for that matter  _doing it_ in the Fade." 

He chuckled at her lack of subtlety, but caught himself. He could not let himself get caught up in her, not now.

"I apologize. The kiss was..."  _Amazing, wonderful, full of more magic than he could ever produce alone,_ "...impulsive. And I should not have encouraged it."

Now it was her turn to laugh. She took a step towards him, and the look she wore was one he'd seen before, when she was hunting particularly difficult prey. "You say that, but you're the one who started with tongue."

He almost choked on the words he had been prepared to say. And suddenly her soft lips, ready, waiting, pliant and strong, were all he could picture.

"I did no such thing." He muttered weakly, hating the flush in his face and the unconvincing pitch in his voice. He was heralded a god, unshaken by hundreds of armies and yet here this one woman was, undoing him with mere innuendo.

"Oh so does it not count if it's only Fade tongue?" She took another step towards him, smiling triumphantly. He wanted to say no to her, save them both the pain in the end...but he knew in that moment he could not lie, and pushing her away not might only make her push back harder. So he tried starting with some truth.

"It has been a long time," a _few centuries,_ "and things have always been easier for me in the Fade." It was so easy to kiss her, to give in to his desire, yes. But he needed to resist and it was as difficult then as it was now. "I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble."

He turned from her then, he could not stand to see any disappointment in her eyes. He expected her to leave, or to argue with him, but instead he felt a hand on his arm, running down to lace fingers in his own.

He looked down and he saw her looking up at him, head cocked to one side and none of that certainty from before had left her.

"I'm willing to take that chance...if you are."

And maybe he was. Maybe she did not have to die, maybe the strength he so admired in her could keep her going, maybe the life he saw in her was a rarity that destroying the world could not wipe out.

Maybe.

"I...may be. Yes." He heard the words leave his mouth before fully registering them. It frightened him and...excited him at the same time. He had to step away still, but maybe, if they took things slow, there would be no time to become fully enraptured. He did not have to stop completely, just proceed with caution. "If I could take a little time to think. There are...considerations." The excuse sounded lame even to him but surprisingly enough she nodded. 

"Take all the time you need."

"Thank you. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now," Well, maybe not completely certain, this seemed to good to not be some concoction of a desire demon, though it had none of the telltale signs, "and if you wish to discuss anything I would enjoy talking."

She smiled brightly and bounded over to the couch at the far side of the room, curling up comfortably and patting the seat next to her.

"Well I do recall asking to hear more stories from your travels before you went all Fade Tongue on me so I do believe you owe me some tales of dashing bravery on forgotten battlefields." 

And so he sat, and they talked, and she smiled, and he fell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Some canon romance! Let me know what you guys think!


	10. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to let loose

He needed time. Caiwen could do time.

It's not like she wasn't used to being patient. Being a good hunter meant being patient, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Charging in too soon would often scare away prey, which makes taking a shot more difficult than need be. 

So, patience.

And yet, this was the most difficult steak out she had ever endured.

Weeks went by after her fateful meeting with Solas in the Fade. Weeks of fireside talks, furtive glances, shy smiles, timid brushes of the hand. Weeks of finally knowing for certain that something was there...now all that was left was the question of when it would culminate into something more. She still could not forget that kiss. Even when fighting off demons, hunting down Templars and killing undead, it was constantly at the back of her mind.

It was only when they traveled to the Exalted Plains that she started to get that niggling annoying of frustration nipping at the back of her mind. They had found a Dalish camp by the river and upon her urging, had decided to curry their favor. Solas and Bull did not understand why she needed to earn the trust of her own people, but thankfully Cassandra merely offered to help her herd the golden halla back to camp by using one of her favorite flanking techniques.

"This is a foolish quest, this creature is merely a-"

"Shut up, Solas." She snapped, immediately regretting the bite she tasted from her words. She sighed as the halla bounded into another crevice and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"He's got a point boss. We're wasting time chasing this mutated animal all over the plains, we need to be making ground on those rifts." Bull interjected softly, rolling his shoulders as he let his great axe drop to the ground. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean...Look the halla are sacred to my people. I know you may not understand or approve but...please, just let me have this."

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, but instead of looking up into Solas' eyes like she expected she met Cassandra's warm gaze.

"If this is important to you...it is important to the Inquisition. Come, I may be able to lure it out with some of our dried rations." The warrior woman trudged away in the direction of the animal, pulling some food out of her satchel. Caiwen couldn't help the feeling of relief that washed over. Finally, someone understood. Well maybe not understood but at least didn't question her. It was a nice change of pace when it came to defending her Dalish customs to outsiders. 

The next two hours were spent with the two women flanking the golden animal and luring it with various dried berries and herbs Caiwen had pocketed on their journey over. Finally they found themselves back at the Dalish camp, exhausted but beaming while the two men grumbled sullenly behind them.

"Could've gone and seen that dragon today," She heard Bull mumble as the Keeper expressed his gratitude to the group for assisting his clansmen.

"Please, will you all join us for dinner?" The keeper added, after finalizing their allegiance to the Inquisition. The sun was setting over the rocky hills and suddenly Caiwen's stomach gurgled with a hunger she hadn't noticed before now. She thought wistfully of their squandered rations and after a quick nod from Cassandra she accepted. She tried not to notice the quiet groan from Solas behind her as they ventured further into the camp.

Bull quickly sidled up to a young mage, newly tattooed but hair as red as fire so he didn't seem to mind. Cassandra ventured over to the weapons master to check his wares, which left Solas standing stiffly behind her as she sat by the fire and made small talk with the other hunters. 

"Your bow is magnificent, what kind of wood do your smiths use?" One young elf asked, carefully gliding his hands over the weapon she had laid by her side.

"I actually made it myself. I found the schematic in Val Royeux, but tweaked it using Ironbark and Serpentstone for the grip, and Dragonling Scales for the string." She felt the pride well up in her chest at the young hunter's awestruck look. 

"Were you a weapons master in your clan?" A girl asked her this time, grabbing the bow from the other hunter.

"No I merely dabbled between hunts, but the Inquisition has workshops and materials to spare so it's given me opportunity to practice the craft." She got a few understanding nods in response and she noticed the small group of hunters was growing to include more members of the clan as they prepared for communal dinner. 

"What properties doe the Serpentstone add to the build?" Another woman, this time a bit older, perhaps an apprentice, questioned, bringing her a goblet filled with dandelion and strawberry wine. She smiled as she inhaled the sweet aroma and passed one on to the oddly silent Solas. 

"Well that's my secret, isn't it." She smirked, taking a gulp of the sweet alcohol,and closing her eyes at the indulgent flavor. Oh how she missed this. "But if you keep my goblet flowing then maybe I might be tricked into telling you."

* * *

 

It was no secret that Solas was uncomfortable among the Dalish. He had made his opinion on them known multiple times and the experiences he had had with the clans he had come across in his travels were less than civil.

So, to say he had trepidations about trying to gain the favor of the clan camped out in the Exalted Plains was putting it lightly. Not to mention the whole venture had left the Inquisitor a little more snappy than he was used to or enjoyed. At least the Iron Bull shared his view on the futility of the whole venture, though that was little comfort as long as he heard the words 'Shut up, Solas' echoing around in his head. He hate being dismissed so easily and the whole situation paired with the muggy heat and sore feeling in his soles had him feeling a little more surly than normal.

It had nothing to do with the easy smiles and curious touches that the male hunters of the clan had for the Inquisitor upon their arrival back at camp with the golden halla. His deepening frown lines had nothing to do with the blush that rose to her cheeks, be it from the sweet wine or the increasing level of attention paid to her by her familiars, he could not discern. He still did not like it an he did not quite know why.

No, that was a lie. He knew why. He had only started to let himself know why. He was attracted to her in a way he could no longer deny. Ever since that night in the Fade...that kiss...he would find himself thinking of how her lips would taste in the waking world, about whether or not her skin could live up to the softness in his dream's memory. On more than one occasion he would find his mind wandering to these thoughts in the heat of battle; his eyes fixed on her form leaping into action and deftly felling an enemy instead of focusing on the terror demon before him.

She was a distraction beforehand and now that he had allowed himself to indulge in a taste...she had become a dangerous engrossment. 

But he had already crossed whatever line he had set for himself and now he knew...she had him. It was only a matter of time until things really boiled over and he knew that despite fruitlessly trying to stave off the tide of desire that roiled inside of him every time she laughed easily at one of the other hunters' remarks.

He took shallow sips of the sweet wine and picked uninterestedly as the plate of charred nug and boiled sprouts and flowers before him. She was so at ease here, among her people, and the jealously that clawed at his throat when the males of the group offered to fill her wine or scooted closer to better hear her stories was only part of the problem. He had never seen her so relaxed. Not in the time between finding her at the Conclave and being named Inquisitor, and certainly never in his presence. Even when he saw her in the tavern dancing with Bull or scheming with Sera over a goblet of ale, she always had some kind of guard up around her. 

It was only natural. She had gone from accused terrorist to revered holy figure in the course of a few days and had all these responsibilities thrust upon her. She had always handled them with grace, but here, with her people in this place...she was so at ease. She belonged here. And the thought that he could never come close to making her feel that safe around him, at least not genuinely,pained him more than he cared to admit.

So, to say he was in a sour mood would be putting it lightly.

"Wait, no, you guys have halla grass?" The Inquisitors excitement pulled him from his sullen train of thought and he glanced over to see her holding a small piece of parchment rolled into a cylinder rather sloppily. 

"Consider it a gift, we found a whole patch of it a few weeks back. Dried it out myself." The boy next to her said proudly, puffing out his chest a little. "It's pretty potent stuff."

She giggled and pocketed the piece of paper. "I'll be the judge of that. Thank you, I'll be saving this for a day I really need it. I'm already in a good enough mood tonight."

Solas would have to ask her about that later. he was unfamiliar with the term halla grass, or if it was a colloquial term for some other kind of herb or potion. The illicit giggles shared between Caiwen and her new fast friends tipped him off that it was something special to the Dalish, and possibly some kind of indulgence. It definitely piqued his interest. But she had moved on to discussing the terrain in the area and where the clan's sacred spaces were and so he stored his question for another time.

"Well, we should be heading back to camp." Caiwen abruptly stood up and hugged a few of the hunters around her before turning to the Keeper.

"You are more than welcome to rest here for the night."

"Thank you,  _haren_ but we should be getting back to report in on rift activity. They tend to worry when they don't hear back from 'The Inquisitor' in a timely manner." She smiled at her own joke but he could see the regret lingering in her eyes. "Thank you, again, for sharing a meal with us. It was nice to be reminded of home, if only for a short time."

She said the rest of her farewells, collected Bull and Cassandra from their respective distractions (Bull was a little more reluctant than the Seeker), and they started the short trek back to their nearest camp.

"You were uncharacteristically quiet tonight." Caiwen noted, sidling up beside Solas silently, but looking straight ahead.

"You were enjoying yourself. I was reluctant to offend, given my track record with the Dalish."

"That's both considerate and standoffish. How very you." He had half a mind to be insulted but looked down to find her beaming up at him and all he could do was snort indignantly.

"I for one had a lovely time. I should never have doubted you, boss." Bull boomed from the back of the group, obviously having indulged in the wine.

"I would have shown you the redhead earlier if I knew it would make you quit your bitching." Caiwen shot back gleefully, earning her a deep chortle. When they finally go back to camp, Solas started to head towards his tent when he felt a tug on his robe. He saw the Inquisitor grinning deviously up at him.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not tired yet. I want to show you something."

Truth be told he was exhausted. His muscles ached from chasing around that blasted halla all morning and his sour mood made his eyelids droops a little more heavily than normal. Instead of protesting, however, he found himself nodding and following the giddy woman back out of camp into a nearby set of ruins. 

"You wanted to show me more remnants of our people's past?" He questioned, running his hand over the smooth stone arches.

"No, besides its not like I'd have any more insight into Elvhenan than you would. I wanted to show you this." She took out the small piece of parchment from her pocket and grinned eagerly. "Have you ever smoked halla grass?"

"You smoke halla food?" He asked bewildered, which caused her to laugh and motion for him to sit beside her on the patch of grass.

"I'll take that as a no. The halla don't eat it, we just call it that because it used to be used for sacred rights, initiating the halla keepers and all that. That is until people started catching on that it was stronger than dandelion wine and didn't leave you hungover. Now its more of a rare treat. It usually grows in hard to access places so it's not very common for a clan to have a store." She scooted closer to him and held up his hand, positioning it by the parcel that dangled from her lips. "Care to spare me some flame?"

"So that's the real reason you invited me out here, for my magic." He grinned at her. He already felt his sour mood dissipating when faced with her private smiles. She wanted to spend time with him, share this with him. The thought urged on a swell of pride as he thought of the young hunters back in the Dalish camp who were probably hoping for the same opportunity all night.

"Don't be daft I can start a fire on my own but your methods are quicker." She nudged his shoulder playfully and he felt warm despite the chill in the air. He focused his mana into the palm of his hand and produced a flame just small enough for Caiwen to light the tip of the parchment. She inhaled deeply and let a thick plume of smoke drift slowly past her lips. The scent was not unpleasant; it was earthy and floral and damp smelling, like a forest after rain, but it was strong and made him sneeze. Laughing, she handed him the grass and signaled for him to follow his lead.

He had smoked pipes before, back when he was heralded as a god, but this was different. He inhaled deeply like she had done and the smoke hit he back of his throat like a dagger. The sensation surprised him and he coughed and sputtered, smoke puffing out of him like a sickened dragon, nothing like the elegant twirls Caiwen had accomplished.

"You people enjoy this?" He asked once his throat felt like it wasn't on fire. She laughed again and took another leisurely drag of the herbs.

"Just wait, you'll see why." She offered him back the parchment and he reluctantly took it, this time being careful to not inhale too abruptly. The smoke still stung but this time he managed to breathe normally with only minimal effort. Caiwen took the herbs back and took on last one drag before extinguishing the flame and laying on her back.

"Well, what are you still doing up there, come on down." She patted the grass next to her head and against his better judgement he laid beside her, staring up at the brilliant night sky. His head felt foggy suddenly, similar when he drank too much wine, but somehow less intense. He felt...relaxed, for perhaps the first time since he awoke. His legs no longer ached and his head couldn't seem to grasp on to any troubling concept for too long. It was a welcome change, though this was not a state he could find himself in often. He could not be troubled by it, instead he found himself focusing on the sky, the twinkling stars and slow moving wisps of clouds that traveled over head.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice dragged him slowly back to earth and he thought about sitting up to look at her but found his body was too delightfully heavy to try and move it. 

Instead he hummed contently and gripped her fingers tighter. Wait, when did they start holding hands?

"I'm glad. you're always so guarded, tensed up. It doesn't hurt to unwind every once in a while." He wanted to protest, he logically and fundamentally disagreed with her, but her voice was so pleasant and he could still smell that earthy floral note in the air mixing with her own unique scent of herbs and, in this case, sweat. Instead of repulsing him it made him even more complacent and at ease. Everything in that moment just felt...put together. Organized in a way that he wished he could make the world. Everything in its place and her by his side. It felt right, and for a moment he didn't worry about things that were not an immediate concern.

"You're fantastic." He heard himself say the words more than he registered actually saying them. Her laughter bubbled up delightfully next to him and it made him smile.

"Are you talking to me or the halla grass?"

"Yes." Another bubble of laughter and soon her face was looming over him. She was sitting up, he realized, looking down at him.

"You're pretty fantastic yourself." He was about to protest, to tell her just how wrong she was, when he felt her fingers brush the hollow of his ear. For a moment his breath caught in his throat, and he thought she was going to kiss him, this time for real. In the waking world, though right now it felt more like a dream to him than the Fade ever had. Her eyes darted down to his lips and he felt himself aching for it. The memory of their not quite kiss was still burning at the front of his mind and right now he could not remember why they had not repeated it. A lot. In many different places and positions.

And then something clouded over her face, and her bright grin dipped into a brief frown. "Time. Right. I'm sorry." She pulled away then and he almost protested vocally but instead let her settle back beside him, lacing his fingers into hers once more. 

"Are you hungry?" She asked, and he was. He didn't notice before but he was downright starving right now and was viciously regretting not eating more of the food the Dalish offered.

"Quite." He answered, rolling to his side languidly and looking down at her.

"Great. Let's go raid the rations." And with that she was darting back through the forest, laughing, and he was following her. This felt right too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was such a long wait for such a short chapter! I had a bit of writers block but hopefully that's all done with.   
> Please comment, bookmark etc, feedback is always welcome!


	11. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen has some heart to hearts. Some are more unexpected than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! I rewrote this chapter 3 times before I had something I didn't totally hate.   
> Subscribe, comment, berate me for tardiness, whatever floats your boat! All are appreciated!

Things were at an unusual standstill at Skyhold. The Inquisition was in a perpetual state of 'hurry up and wait' and it was slowly driving Caiwen crazy. When she wasn't hiding from Josephine and her 'etiquette' classes, something that the ambassador seemed more and more keen to thrust upon the poor elf as the prospect of the Halamshiral ball loomed ever closer, she was out in the courtyard cultivating the small herb garden she had started. 

Usually the garden provided some much needed solitude but word was starting to spread about Caiwen's favorite stomping grounds and it was becoming more and more difficult to hear her own thoughts. Most times Cole would skulk silently in the corner, but Caiwen learned to put him to use rater quickly. He was quite good at trimming back excess growths on the plants. Teaching him what little she knew about herbology was sometimes better than being left alone with her thoughts. 

"A little suffering is necessary for the stem to grow strong and tall." He would mumble to himself now and then. It was a mantra she had taught him by accident, upon his initial protests about harming the herbs, but she thought it was probably a good lesson for him to keep close. He was far too eager to ease people's suffering. It was a noble thought but some wounds were better left open, so they body and soul could learn to heal on its own. 

On one particular afternoon, when Caiwen was showing Cole how to stint together two pollinating trees to bear fruit, Commander Cullen wandered into the small area. He seemed more relaxed than she was used to seeing him, until he spotted her and his shoulders immediately stiffened.

"I-Inquisitor! Pardon me, I didn't mean to intrude." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and turned on his heel to exit. It was always strange to her, a man so strong and sure of his place in battle, in war, was so timid in person. She shook her head and chuckled, causing him to pause his retreat.

"Don't be ridiculous, Cullen, I was only showing Cole how to get some apple trees started. Anything I can do for you?" She stood, rubbing her soil stained hands on her leggings (something Josie would surely scold her for later; she was running out of 'nice' clothes between blood stains and dirt), and walked over to the  Commander. Cole continued to hum contently, wrapping the twine she had given him around the two saplings they had planted. 

"No. Well. I actually came here looking for some spare elfroot. The healers were tired of me depleting their supplies, said I should 'get it myself'." His face turned crimson as she cocked an eyebrow at him. He chuckled self deprecatingly, and returned to rubbing the back of his neck. She resisted the urge to ask him if he was suffering from a rash back there. "They do have a point, I suppose."

"Is something ailing you, Commander? I may not be a healer but my mother was dedicated to Sylaise. She taught me a few simple remedies." 

Cullen shifted his weight a few times, obviously debating how to respond. Instead he settled on a questioning, "Sylaise?" 

"She's one of our pantheon. Healers usually take her vallaslin." When he still seemed confused, she added, "The tattoos on our faces. They represent different deities."

"Ah. Forgive me, I have not had much interaction with the Dalish. I'm sorry if I seem ignorant." 

"Most humans haven't met many Dalish. Its kind of our thing, staying secluded." Caiwen quirked, smiling gently to let him know there was no malice in her tone. He smiled shyly in return and ducked his head.

"What does your...uh...val...vallah..."

She couldn't help the belly laugh at his poor attempt at Elvhen, which caused his face to redden even further.

"Vallaslin. I'm dedicated to June, patron of craftsmen. Most hunters are dedicated to Andruil, but well...I guess I'm not your standard Dalish hunter." She smirked at him again and he responded with a genuine smile.

"I don't think anyone would accuse you of being ordinary, Inquisitor."

"It's Caiwen, Cullen, I would think we've been through enough that we can forgo the titles. At least in private." She beamed up at the man as he seemed to look around and see just how alone they were, save the not-Spirit plucking herbs serenely in the corner.

"Of course, Caiwen." He shifted hesitantly again, switching between looking at the elfroot behind her, and at his own feet. Finally, he sighed defeatedly and looked her dead in the eyes. She saw the determination between the honeyed brown tones and decided to stop her teasing and listen patiently to him. Whatever he was about to say obviously was difficult for him.

"Actually, Inq-Caiwen, there is a matter I wanted to bring to your attention.  As leader of the Inquisiton, you-" He faltered, looking suddenly ashamed. "There's something I must tell you."

He hesitated again, looking at her inquiringly. If she knew anything about the Commander she could guess that he was probably waiting for her to dismiss him. Caiwen sighed, fighting against the urge to tell him that  _of course_ his problems concern her, not as the Inquisitor but as his friend. That was an argument better saved for another time. Instead she quirked her mouth into a grin again  and sat down on one of the stone benches, motioning for him to follow suit.

"You're being especially serious today." She quipped, as if the Commander wasn't always serious. It was a habit she was determined to break him of.

"I know." He said solemnly, seemingly missing her joke. He sat beside her nonetheless, his eyes focused dead ahead, at some patch of weeds growing through the cobblestone path. "Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well." The Commander huffed, dropping his elbows to his knees and clasping his hands together. If she didn't know any better Caiwen would said he was praying. Templars had always been a matter of contention between the two. She knew he wasn't too thrilled when she decided to seek out the mages over his former Order. At the time it seemed like the best option to her, but now...the lump that formed in her throat as she recalled the sickly red glow, distinct from the fires at Haven, marching over the hills towards them...Caiwen couldn't help but think that maybe the Order could have been saved if she had cared to reach out to them. Maybe Corypheus would never have had the chance to poison those men and women, to twist them into crystallized monsters.

Heedless of her inner turmoil, Cullen proceeded with his preamble. "Those cut off suffer. Some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source for the Templars here but I...no longer take it." He paused there, but still trained his gaze away from her. The news surprised Caiwen. Living in the clan she did not often come across the effects of lyrium, even among the mages there. They did not need the magical boost in day to day life. She knew, of course, that it was the source of the Templar's power, but hearing Cullen talk about it...well it would seem there was still a lot about the human world she did not know. Did not care to know until now. The surge of guilt that riled in her stomach like acid left a sour taste in her mouth. If quitting lyrium could kill a man...how long had Cullen gone without? How long had she not noticed the suffering of her friend? What more had she missed?

"You stopped?" She fought the urge to reach out to the man next to her, worried that he might recoil from the gesture of sympathy. From what she knew of him, Cullen was not a man who would suffer anyone's pity.

"When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now." His head dropped and he let one hand rub at his temple. His search for elfroot suddenly made sense. 

"Why are you doing this?" She questioned. It was obvious, now, that he was in pain. The bags under his eyes, the steadfast dedication to his work; she had always thought it was his dedication to the cause. She should have recognized the attempt to busy oneself with work in order to avoid something much more painful. She could kick herself right now.

"After...what happened in Kirkwall I couldn't." He still avoided looking at her. She was afraid of what she would see if he did. She had heard stories of the tragedies of Kirkwall, and Varric was even letting her borrow a copy of his book, but to be there...to be part of those horrors... "I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer." If her own nightmares about blighted Dragons and would-be gods and smoldering cabins and the smell of burnt flesh were any indication, she could relate to the desire to distance himself from that time.

Cullen stood abruptly, paced a few steps then turned to look at her, jaw set and a fire in her eyes that she had only seen before during their most intense battle strategy sessions. "Whatever the suffering I accept it, but I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to-" He faltered again, took a steadying breath and barreled through, "to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised I will be relieved from duty."

 _Creators blast your duty,_ she thought. It didn't matter if they crushed Corypheus if the family she had adopted did not make it through all this.

"Are you in pain?" She offered instead, standing and taking a step towards him. He seemed to hesitate, fighting the urge to step back at her familiarity with him. 

"I can endure it." He assured her, though the crease in his brow seemed to say otherwise. 

"Thank you for telling me, Cullen. I respect your decision." The words sounded weak coming from her lips. She wanted to tell him he was strong, that if anyone could pull through this it was him. That he was her friend and she would be there for him, no matter the burdens that settled on his shoulders. Instead he nodded stiffly at her and quiet settled over them uncomfortably. His eyes scanned around them as if desperately seeking an exit, before she blurted out, 

"Our escape from Haven...it was close. I'm relieved that so many...that you made it out." Her head tilted and she managed a slight smile at him. She tried to communicate that he was more than the Commander of her troops, that he was her friend. His gaze softened and he looked down at the ground then back up at her. 

"You...stayed behind. You could have...I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." He looked at her with such intensity that the joke she was prepared with died before it reached her lips. She felt a slight shiver run down her spine and now she was the one who turned her gaze away, unbidden heat reaching the tip of her ears.

"I-I believe you came here for some elfroot." She stuttered. She plucked some ripe leaves off the tall plant behind her and placed them carefully in one of the jars she had brought outside with her.

"This will only do so much, you know. If the pain gets worse, come to me. I'll show you my secret Dalish ways." She managed a grin as she handed the jar to Cullen. It was his turn to blush now and she felt better, having even ground again. 

"Thank you, Inquisit- Caiwen, sorry." She smiled brightly as he walked from the courtyard, noting he now stood a little taller than when he first entered.

"Cullen is a Templar but he is good. Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you smile at him." Caiwen jumped at Cole's voice, she had nearly forgotten the boy, and not because of his mysterious powers. 

"Yes, he is good."

"You are good too." The same acidic guilt rose inside her as she recalled the heat in his eyes, admitting feelings that she could not return, not for him. The brown sugar honey melted into steely blue in her minds eye and she sighed.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure I am, Cole."

* * *

 "Please tell me you have some menial task you need us to travel for weeks to accomplish." Caiwen sighed as she plopped herself in the seat across from Dorian. He looked up at her over the book in his hands.

"Is our exalted Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, who cheated death twice, walked through the Fade, and traveled in time... _bored_?!" The mock outrage in the mage's voice had her rolling her eyes.

"I'm  _restless_ , not bored. I just...all this waiting around is killing me. I want to be  _out_ there. There's so much that needs to be done. We're low on supplies for the healers, the masons need to find quarry sources to make repairs, and not to mention the Templars and Venatori are out there  _somewhere_ and we still don't know where the Grey Wardens are and-"

"Slow down my little jitterbug. Isn't this why you have troops and scouts and..." Dorian twirled his hand dramatically in the direction of the rookery, "... _people_?"

Caiwen huffed and dropped her head on one of the pile of books before her, earning her a squeak of protest from her friend. "I'm not a  _queen_ , Dorian. I will not become some useless figure head they only drag out when a rift needs closing. I want to be out there, helping. Really making a difference."

She looked back up at him through her lashes and it seemed to soften him slightly. He sighed and put down the book in his hands,  _The Blasphemous South_ , she noted, and grabbed her hands.

"No one would dare accuse you of being lackadaisical, love." She scrunched up her face at him and he quirked an eyebrow in response. "Though if you really are that restless I can inform our dear ambassador that you're ready for more Orlesian etiquette classes. I know how much those thrill you."

She snorted and rolled her eyes again, laying her head back down on the books before her.

"Alternatively, I could see if our resident Elvhen apostate could...work out your frustrations with you."

Caiwen's head shot up at that and her eyes widened, wildly looking towards the hole in the center of the library where her keen ears could still hear faint scribbling below. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." She lied, voice turning into a harsh whisper as heat rushed up from her toes to the tips of her ears. 

"Mmmhmm, I'm sure. The two of you were merely cuddling for warmth in the tent, correct?" Dorian smiled smugly and leaned back in his chair, satisfied at the second bloom of heat that wafted over Caiwen's face. 

"Quiet!" She hissed, sending another desperate look at the hand railing, before sighing. "Its not...we're not...it's complicated." Her shoulders dropped slightly, but enough for the Tevene to notice.

"Oh darling, we all see the way you took look at each other. It seems pretty simple to me.  _Teach me about the Fade, hahren_." Caiwen's eyes squinted at the absurdly high voice the mage adopted to mock her, and she hit him without any real malice.

"We...kissed...well not really. It was in the Fade-"

" _Of course_ it was."

"Oh hush. It was...well I thought it was wonderful but...he said he needed to think it over. That it might be a bad idea." She looked down at her hands, her thumbs rolling over one another nervously. "I don't know. Maybe he's right. It's been weeks. We're in the middle of a war." She sighed heavily at that and her ears drooped almost comically. Dorian would have laughed had she not looked so utterly dejected. "I've been throwing myself at him like a fool. If he felt the same way...well he wouldn't have to  _consider it_."

Dorian's hand balled up at the sullen look that crossed her face. "Well now that's the most absurd thing I have ever heard...and I helped develop time magic so I would know." He paused, waiting for a chuckle or smile that never came, which made him even more agitated. 

"You listen to me now. If that unwashed hobo is stringing you along it has nothing to do with  _you_. As I've said, I've seen how he looks at you. There's nothing that needs  _considering_." She looked at him doubtfully and he had to fight the urge to shake her by the shoulders. "Besides, there are plenty out there who would leap at the chance to curry your favor." He shot a pointed look at the door leading out of the rotunda, toward's the Commander's office.

"That's not funny, Dorian." She said, voice suddenly low and dangerous.  He took the hint and backed off, but not before airily adding "I just think its important to remember...for you and..for others." He looked down at the rotunda over the bannister and she followed his gaze to see Solas staring up at them. She hadn't even noticed he had stopped writing.

Caiwen's face flushed and she stood abruptly, walking briskly towards the exit. Dorian couldn't help but notice she was taking the long way around, opting to pass by Vivian rather than retreating into the rotunda below. When the door slammed behind her Dorian leaned over the railing to see the elf below still staring up at him with a carefully suppressed rage.

"What? You're the one who talks about kissing with tongue with no regard to who is trying to read up here." He shrugged nonchalantly and closed his book, rising from his table and folding the volume between his robes. "Word of advice, Solas. She isn't one for games...of the mind or the heart. If you're going to let her down, do it now and do it gently." Without waiting for his reaction, Dorian turned on his heel and headed towards his quarters. He'd never get any reading done with those blasted crows squawking anyway. 

 

* * *

 

Solas could not believe the nerve of that blasted magister. Even if he was friends with Caiwen, he had no right to stick his nose into her private affairs. Into their private affairs, as if he knew anything of what he was prattling on about. Solas' hands clenched into fists as he glared up at the now empty library. He paced restlessly around the rotunda, not daring to look up at the door leading to the battlements, to the Commander. He could see the way the man looked at Caiwen, the way he spoke softer when she was around. 

Solas wasn't blind. He knew Caiwen was a physically beautiful woman. He knew that men and women alike looked on her with a mixture of awe and lust. It wasn't something that bothered him, normally. But Dorian had gotten under his skin. He knew the Commander was different. He looked at her with all the admiration and affection she deserved, unsullied by secrets and terrible duty. He would be good for her. Kind to her.

Unlike him.

He sighed, fingers unclenching as he looked forlornly at the scattered papers on the desk he had secured. There was no way he would be able to focus on work tonight. He needed guidance, the kind that only his friend Wisdom could provide.

He nodded to himself, resolved, and headed off to the small room off the battlements with the simple bed that he had claimed as his own. 

The morning would bring some much needed clarity.


	12. All New, Faded for Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Caiwen reveal parts of themselves that they prefer to keep hidden.

Caiwen had spent the early hour of the morning lying awake in her overly lavish bed, staring at the ceiling and half hoping a rift would open up above her and swallow her whole. Every time she felt her eyelids start to flutter close she saw those steely blue eyes staring up at her from the rotunda below and her own golden eyes would snap back open, heat wafting over her face and heart clenching in embarrassment. 

She was acting foolish, she knew, like a child who had been caught confessing her feelings about her first crush. She had already kissed him once, he had known her feelings for a while now so she did not know why getting caught repeating the same information to Dorian made her want to bury her head in the sand. 

Foolish. She was not some barefaced girl. She was a fully grown woman, leader of the Inquisition; whatever that meant. And yet here she was, afraid to have an honest conversation with the scholarly mage under her command. She had faced death, multiple times now, traveled through time and taken down Pride demons five times her size. She would not cower in the face of an uncertain heart. 

As dawn's light started creeping into the windows of her too-big room, she steeled herself to confront this whole stupid mess once and for all. She all but leapt out of bed once she set her mind to it, hastily pulling on simple leggings under her night shirt. After a moment's hesitation she decided it was probably a good idea to pull on a real tunic and run a comb through her hair as well, hoping against hope to not seem as eager as she felt. 

Once she felt satisfied with her appearance, she took the wooden stairs leading from her quarters to the main hall two at a time and creaked open the door slowly. The guard posted there leapt to attention, clearly having dosed off during his shift. 

"Inquisitor! I was just...um..."

"Relax, recruit, I'm not the one who asked for 24 hour surveillance," she smirked, "The Commander never needs to know." 

The soldier visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief. "Thank you, m'lady."

She shot the poor lad another smile and bounded across the hall, happy that most of Skyhold seemed to still be asleep. She paused briefly at the door leading to the rotunda. She had not lost her nerve but the thought suddenly struck her that she had no idea if Solas would be asleep or not. He always was an early riser when they traveled, but she had no real clue to his morning routine at the fortress. On top of that, she had no idea where his quarters even were. She assumed he did not sleep on the chaise in the rotunda, but then again she could not be sure. Her hand hovered over the handle, before finally grasping it firmly and twisting.

Luckily for her the target of her mission was seated in at the throne-like seat by his desk. He was facing away from her but she could see the top of his head and tip of his ears, his height no match for the tall back of the chair. She felt her whole body tense and relax simultaneously. She took a deep breath and walked into his line of sight, making sure her normally silent footfalls echoed just enough to alert him to her presence.

He did not turn to face her, nor did he seem surprised at her early morning visit. Instead he grimly brought the steaming mug in his hand ( _when had she ever seen him drink tea_ ) to his mouth, take a slow sip and then shudder almost comically. She fought the urge to laugh but could not hide the mirth in her voice as she asked, "Something wrong with your tea?"

"It's tea. I detest the stuff." He answered plainly, placing the mug back on its saucer and sighing heavily. She suddenly realized his body language was tense, and the bags under his eyes suggested he had probably slept about as much as she had. The speech she had prepared died in her throat, she had never seen him so ill at ease before. "This morning I need to shake the dreams from my mind. And I may also need a favor."

The confession struck her. She could not recall a time he had asked for her help, aside from the obvious Breach closing. So far almost all her companions had asked her to assist with something. Varric wanted the peace of mind that came with finding and destroying red lyrium deposits. Blackwall wanted only mementos of the Grey Wardens that she found on her travels. Cassandra wanted to track down some high profile Seeker cases. But Solas? He has never asked anything of her, not even her company. 

"You just have to ask," she admitted plainly True, she jumped at the chance to assist any of her loyal inner circle, but this was different. She was only too eager to finally feel like she was someone of use, of importance, to Solas.

He only gave her the faintest ghost of a smile before pushing himself up and pacing back and forth behind his desk. "One of my oldest friends has been kidnapped by mages," He started, huffing angrily even at the recap, "forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept."

Caiwen's heart clenched, both at the unusual display of raw emotion from Solas and the mention of slavery. Slavery was always a touchy subject for elves, for obvious reasons. The word had a special weight for Caiwen, however. The mention of it conjured up long suppressed memories of clanking metal and fire and stinging tears. A small hand grasping helplessly at the only family she had.  _Take the pretty ones and the strong ones. Do what you like with the rest._ She was faintly aware at her hands balled into fists, her nails digging sharply into the flesh of her palm. Deep breathes. This was not about her.

"I'd be happy to help." She said, trying to said calm through gritted teeth. "What did these mages use to capture your friend? Blood magic?" Thankfully Solas seemed to not notice the malice in her tone, the words tasting like bile in her mouth as she tried to ignore the flood of memories that threatened to drown her. 

He did, however, look at her with slight confusion as he answered, "A summoning circle, I would imagine." She felt herself blink slowly as she processed his words. 

"I'm sorry?"

He seemed to not be able to fight off the small grin at her confusion. "My friend is a spirit of Wisdom."

Oh. Caiwen suddenly felt heat rush to her face. Of course. He heard the cry in his sleep. All of his friends were spirits. The familiar feeling of foolishness washed over her again. It was becoming far too regular of an occurrence the more time she spent around Solas.

"Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade." He explained patiently. It sounded a little too similar to her Keeper explaining something obvious to a rambunctious child for her liking. "It was summoned against its will, and it wants my help to return to the Fade." 

She scrunched up her face in confusion. Since she had met Solas, she had learned more of the Fade and Spirits than she would have dreamt. Usually this kind of information was passed from Keeper to First and so on, non mages in the clan had little use for information about spirits and demons, until now she supposed. But she had hung on his every word as he talked about ancient memories and friendly spirits whenever she had gotten him alone. But until now, she had still assumed most spirits yearned for entry into this world, and so she voiced as much.

"I thought spirits wanted to find a way into this world."

"Some do, certainly," He replied, smiling slightly at her curious nature, "Just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain." He paused, frowning again and picked up his restless pacing. Caiwen noticed the slight jitter in his hand and, unsure if it was from the caffeine or the nerves, she made a mental note to hide the tea from him in the future. 

"My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it." He turned to look at her once more and the helplessness in his eyes made her heart clench and breath hitch. It was clear this spirit meant a lot to him. And right there she knew she would do all she could to reunite them once more.  "It would happily discuss philosophy with you," he added with a sad smile, "but it had no desire to come here physically." 

"Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?" Caiwen had entered Inquisitor mode now, mentally drawing up strategy as she gathered information. She could not imagine a spirit would make a good slave, she needed to know what kind of enemy she was dealing with.

"No." The word left Solas' mouth as a breath of frustration, as if he had been asking himself the same question all night. "It knows a great deal of lore and history but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade." He shook his head to himself brows pinching together in a look of confusion.

"It is possible they seek information it does not wish to give and they intend to torture it." Caiwen worried her lower lips with her teeth at the mention of torture. She did not wish that kind of treatment on any innocent, flesh and blood or no. 

"Alright. Let's go get your friend." She was already planning who to rouse for this mission, which mounts to prepare, when Solas reached out for her hand. Her breath caught as he stared into her eyes with an intensity and gratitude that made her falter. She realized now that he was not sure she would say yes.

"Thank you." The emotion that wavered in his voice reminded her of that night in the Fade, when he finally, for once, let his true feelings slip through his carefully constructed mask. Watching it happen was almost too intimate, like she was witnessing something she was not meant to see. And as quick as the moment happened, it was over, as he turned to his desk and rifled through papers. 

"I sensed it's location in the Fade. Somewhere in the Exalted Plains," he muttered, before triumphantly holding up a map and pointing to an area they had yet to explore. "Here."

"I'll grab Dorian and Bull, we head out before midday." She turned on her heel to leave the Rotunda, but paused at the door. She turned and saw Solas' gaze still following her form, with a worried expression still marring his face. 

"I will do everything in my power to save your friend."

Finally the doubt that clouded his face dispersed, and he nodded slowly.

"I know."

* * *

 

The journey to the Exalted Plains was tense. Solas spent most of his time in camp pacing or meditating, if it could even be called that. He was becoming accustomed to sitting cross legged with his eyes squeezed tight and begging his mind to still itself. Dorian had the common sense to turn his usual snark down to some snide comments to Bull. It seemed the two were becoming unexpected allies, though it was more likely due to their other two companions seeming unapproachable. Solas understood their reluctance to make small talk with him, not that they normally tried to in the first place. But the Inquisitor was also abnormally standoffish ever since they left Skyhold. 

Caiwen seemed at once both frustratingly wary of him and unusually dedicated to reaching their destination. Their rests were short lived and where she normally would be veered off course for some sort of errand, she seemed to be wearing some kind of metaphorical blinders. There was no herb gathering, no checking in on local villages and no seeking out rifts. While Solas appreciated the haste to reach his friend, he started to become frustratingly concerned about her. Clearly there was something more to her behavior than a desire to accomplish this mission quickly. And so, on the fourth night, as they were nearing their destination, Solas decided to confront her about it.

The three of them had to convince her to stop for the night. They were all feeling weary, it was well after nightfall and even Caiwen was starting to lack her usual grace. It was only when they came across a small group of bandits that her distraction became evident. She had gone ahead to scout the area and stumbled upon the group rather loudly. It was a miracle they all came out of the ordeal unscathed. Solas suggested then that they use the bandit's setup for their own respite, which she at first declined, claiming the night was still young and they could press on further. After some urging, and then whining, from Dorian however, she conceded. Dorian and Bull made quick work of setting up camp and retiring for the evening, while Caiwen insisted on keeping first watch. At first Solas lingered by the fire, watching her fidget with her arrows, sharpening the tips needlessly with a bit if slate she had found near their setup. 

Finally, after watching her whittle away one of her arrowheads to nothing, he could not hold back his agitated curiosity. "What is on your mind, _lethallin_?"

Her head shot up, as if he had startled her despite sitting across from her for the better half of an hour. He realized belatedly that his voice had a little bit more bite in it than normal.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Solas," she responded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It was a sign, he knew, that she was anxious about something. He decided to ignore the fact that in order to know that he must have been paying far more attention to her than he was comfortable admitting to.

"You have been behaving strangely since we left. Something must be bothering you, and I doubt it is purely anxiety over my captured friend," he pressed, trying to keep the anxiety and weariness from the last few days out of his voice. She sighed in response, pinching the bridge of her nose and dropping her ruined weapon.

"Its not...its complicated. Something you said the other day, it brought up memories I would rather stay forgotten." She seemed to finally realized the poor state of her arrow and kicked it half heartedly into the fire, causing a small burst of sparks to hide her face from him momentarily. Solas, meanwhile was racking his brain for what he might have said to spur on this bout of agitation, and was coming up short. He did not care for puzzles that were purposely vague.

"If you will not tell me as your friend, I ask you tell me as your subordinate. Whatever it is that is distracting you is endangering not only you but our whole party." That at least, seemed to shame her, though Solas was not proud of the look of guilt that washed over her. 

"You're right,  _hahren,_ I'm sorry. It's just...when you mentioned your friend might have been taken, to be used as a slave. It reminded me of one of the worst nights of my life." Solas remained quiet as her face scrunched up. She seemed to be searching for words, her teeth still chewing absently at her plump skin. Finally, her head dropped and, though unsure if it was a trick of the low firelight, it seemed as though water pooled at the corners of her eyes.

"I...I don't like to think about it. I haven't even talked about it since it happened, with my keeper. I was very young, only about eight or nine, when it happened. We were camped farther north than I could remember having been before. Close to the border of the Imperium. We were trying to avoid the horrors of the south." At that she puffed a sour, ironic laugh that made Solas' heart clench with how wrong it sounded. "Thinking back on it now...maybe the Blight would have been preferable. A group of merchants had stumbled across our camp the week before. They had been separated from their caravan, they said. We did not think much of it, we Lavellans have never been particularly wary of humans. My mother..."

Caiwen's voice caught at that, and she clenched her fists into tiny balls before continuing. "One of the merchants had been injured by a wolf. My mother, she was a skilled healer and herbalist. She patched him up, my father traded some goods with them. He made some fine armor, Keeper Deshanna always said I had his eye for craftsmanship." She looked up at him finally, a sad smile on her face, but he could tell the sentiment made her proud. "So they went on their way. It would not have been anything to worry about normally but...well apparently they didn't trade goods. They traded people." 

Solas finally understood and the rage and anxiety he had been feeling for days suddenly hit his gut like a terror demon's claws. He never knew, how could he. She did not carry herself like someone living with a dark past, with a life altering tragedy. Not like he did. She was so light and humorous and warm...how could she have lived through something like that and still be who she was.

"They came for us a week later, the merchant with the patched up wound lead them straight to us. I'll never forget what he said.  _Take the pretty ones and the strong ones. Do what you like with the rest._ " The sob that escaped her took him by surprise. Up until that moment her voice had remained rather steady. He racked his brain and could not quite recall a time seeing her so distressed. Even after the Conclave, after Redcliffe, he could not remember seeing her cry. Suddenly Solas felt overly aware of himself, of his hands and where he was sitting; too far from her. He stood and moved himself beside her, hand hovering over her back before falling lamely at his side. 

"Don't...don't pity me. Really, I'm fine. It was so long ago..." She palmed the tears away from her eyes and stared into the fire, avoiding his gaze. "They took them, my parents. The Keeper was old even then, they had no use for her. She got most of the children to safety, and a few of our hunters were still away from camp at the time. But our numbers were small after that. We returned to the Free Marches not long after, luckily for us by then the Hero of Fereldan had stopped the Blight, but thy then...well..." Not removing her gaze from the fire, she placed her hand next to Solas' on the makeshift log bench, their pinky fingers just barely touching. "When the war broke out...Keeper Deshanna decided we couldn't run from it this time. And here we are."

Finally, she took a deep breath and managed to look up at him. She must have seen something in the way he was looking at her, because she added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this about me. But talking did help. Thank you for that." She stood, placing a hand on his shoulder, making his skin tingle in a puzzling way. 

"I think I'll let you take first watch after all." And before he could say anything she was in her tent, and Solas was left alone; the pool of rage, and something he could not place, still bubbling inside of him.

* * *

 

A rage demon. They had turned his friend into a rage demon, and now he could not tell if it was his own ire or that of the demon's influence that was washing over him in waves. 

"They corrupted it." He barely registered the distressed gasp from Caiwen beside him as he turned his glare on the buffoon rushing towards them. His pudgy face and scrappy mustache did not quell the urge for Solas to punch him right in the manicured goatee. 

"A mage! You're not with the bandits?" The relief in the man's voice spurred on his anger even more, and he could feel his nails biting into the skin of his palms. "Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted, we've been fighting that demon-"

And that was the straw that broke Solas' carefully constructed restraint. " _You_ summoned that demon, only it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time!" He spat, his hand immediately flying to the staff strapped upon his back. " _You_ made it kill, you twisted it against its purpose, you-"

"I-I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons," the pudgy, sorry excuse for a man blubbered. Solas almost laughed at the irony of this man lecturing him on beings from the Fade. "After you help us I can..."

"We are not here to help  _you_ ," Solas sneered. He could feel himself coming unhinged. The bottled up rage and aggression building inside of him was not something he had felt since the fall of Arlathan, since Mythal was murdered. He felt more and more like the Dread Wolf with every passing second. And then Caiwen placed a hand on his arm and it was like ice through his veins. He was still angry, yes, but she grounded him, like a rod to lightning. He breathed sharply through his nostrils and held his tongue. 

"I would think twice about lecturing my friend here on Spirits." She responded cooly, with much more evenness than he could manage at the moment, "And yet, I doubt you deliberately unleashed a demon."

"Of course not do you think me mad?"

"I think you stupid. That is far worse." He relished bitterly in the look of annoyance that comment brought to the mage's face, and the sly smirk that graced Caiwen's. "You summoned it to protect you from the bandits."

"I-I...yes."

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That's when it turned." It made sense to him now. The cry for help, the distress he felt from his friend in the Fade. This was worse than he had feared and it only served to anger him even further. "The summoning circle." He looked to Caiwen, and Dorian and the two nodded with understanding, if not apprehension. "We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon." There was hope. Small, and fleeting, but Solas could not help but grasp at it desperately. 

"You want us to slowly release that thing from what's keeping it from killing us?" Bull protested meekly, but the look Caiwen shot him seemed to shut down any further argument. 

"He's right! It's the only thing keeping it from killing us, whatever it was before it is a monster now!" The mage was looking around even more frantically now, and for a brief moment Solas was worried that Caiwen, that the Inquisitor, would not heed him.

"Inquisitor, please." He was not used to begging, but he could hear how pleading he sounded.He would have been disgusted with himself had he not been so worried for his friend.

"We'll save your friend, Solas, whatever it takes." And suddenly he could not believe he doubted her, even for the briefest of seconds. She was willing to do this for him, without question and he felt his heart break all over again. It had been so long since he had someone he could trust as he could trust her. And with a nod, the party was sprinting toward the circle.

"Bull! You and Dorian distract it, pull fire but do  _not_ hurt it, or yourselves. Stun if you can. Solas, you focus on healing them, I'll take out the circle." 

 And with that she was off, firing arrows from a safe enough distance at the crystals around his friend. With every post she took out the demon came closer to their companions. Bull took a heavy blow to his chest and Solas immediately cast a healing barrier over him while Dorian tried to stun the creature with weak bolts of lightning. 

The pseudo fight seemed to go on forever, and yet it was over before Solas could even realize it. With the last pole shattered by one steady bolt, the Demon staggered, fell and in a puff of magic, the ghostly figure of his friend knelt before them. With a burst of panic Solas sprinted, dropping to his knees himself and realizing too late that there was no saving Wisdom. It was fading, even as he knelt before it, and he could not stop the salty tears that pricked at the edges of his eyes.

 " _Lethallin_ ,  _Ir abelas,_ " He sobbed.  _I am sorry_. His natural tongue slipped from him in his grief, he could not save her. He could not save anyone. This feeling was all too familiar.

" _Tel'abelas. Enasel. Ir tel'him_."  _I am not sorry. I am happy. I am me again._ The confession pushed the tears from his eyes down his cheeks and he had to blink away the water to look at his fading friend. " _Ma melaya halani. Mala suladin nada. Ma gilana mir din'an._ "  _You helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death._

Solas choked back the sob that threatened to burst through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing this to simply be some trick of the Fade, but as he opened his eyes, he knew this was real. His friend was already gone. " _Ma nuvenin_." He used up the last of his strength to do as the spirit requested, and as his magic drained and his friend disappeared, he could feel his body go limp. It was done. " _Dareth shiral_."

"I heard what it said." He did not have to look up to feel Caiwen at his back, comforting him with only her presence. "It was right. You did help it."

"And now, I must endure." Solas allowed himself one parting look at the spot that his friend once stood, and pushed himself up.

"Let me know if I can help." He turned to her then, and saw her as radiant in her grief as she was in her joy. She wanted to reach out to him, he could feel it emanating off of her, and that alone was comfort enough.

"You already have." He smiled sadly at her, and then a movement caught his eye. The mages were rushing over to them, and suddenly all the rage he had felt before came flooding back, giving him back the life and energy he had just felt seep out of him. This was needless. His friend should not be dead. "All that remains is them."

"Thank you," The pudgy leader exclaimed joyously. How could they be celebrating when an innocent was dead?! "We would not have risked a summoning circle, but the roads were too dangerous to travel unprotected." 

"You tortured. And killed. My  _friend_." Solas marched towards them and the leader shrunk back pathetically. Solas could feel the anger and hurt radiating off of him but could not help it. These men, these monsters did not deserve to live. 

"I didn't know," the mage whimpered, "It was just a spirit, the book said it could help us!"

Solas' hand shot to his staff before he could even register it, magic already sparking from both the weapon and himself.

"Solas." He paused, and looked back at Caiwen. She was asking him not to kill them, begging. And for a moment he thought he could do that, for her. But then he turned to look at the sniveling group again and before he knew it he blasted them with a single bolt of magic energy, and they collapsed before him. 

"Never again." He turned back to her again and was almost floored by what he saw there. Grief, pity and...fear. He did not want her to fear him...not her of all people. He looked down at his hands, still sparking agitated energy and spattered with blood. He was so filled with rage and hurt and grief, and he knew all too well what he was capable of when that happened. He could not let her see that part of him. Not her.

"I...I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold." And without looking back he marched off into the woods, hating this world he wrought, and hating himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo boy this is a long one. Let me know what you think!


	13. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen learns the art of careful navigation.

It had been three weeks, two days and six hours since Solas had left them in the Exalted Plains. The journey back to Skyhold had been relatively silent. Despite their best efforts to cheer up the Inquisitor, Dorian and Bull could not seem to shake Caiwen from the state of shock the ordeal had sent her in. And so every night Caiwn took watch until she could no longer physically keep her eyes open. Every snapped twig or rustled branch had her leaping to her feet, ears twitching and eyes scanning the darkness, hoping to see Solas emerging from the brush. Eventually, she would wake Dorian or Bull in the small hours of the morning, just before daybreak, and then crawl into her tent alone. This went on until they finally reached Skyhold. They handed their mounts over to Master Dennet and before her companions even had a chance to hang up their reigns, she was gone. 

She was hoping to simply sneak past the nobles congregated in the hall and retreat into her room to replay the events of the week over and over in her head, but she was stopped by Josephine scuttling over to her just before she reached her door.

"Inquisitor!" The ambassador seemed not to notice her target's shoulders slump with a heavy sigh, and instead barreled on through. "Theres a matter that was brought to our attention while you were away-"

"Can this wait until the morning, Josie?" Caiwen sighed, hand falling limply from the handle of her door. "Its been a rather rough mission."

"Well, I figured you'd want to know about this immediately. It has to do with your clan, there's been another letter..."

Caiwen's ears immediately perked at the mention of her clan and she almost gave herself whiplash turning to face the ambassador. Suddenly she realized Josephine did not seem her usual chipper self. The woman looked nervous, hands clenching a letter with her clan's sigil emblazoned across the front. Caiwen felt her already heavy heart drop as she grasped the parchment with a bit more force than necessary. She scanned the letter once, twice and then a third time until the words began to finally make sense in her anxious haze.

"Bandits. They're being raided...not again, not now." Her words were soft but Josie nodded, clearly having been debriefed on the contents by Nightingale already.

"The rest of your advisors are already waiting for you in the war room. We're ready to help once you're settled in."

Caiwen crumpled the letter in her fist and turned on her heel, already marching towards the door adjacent to her own.

"Now. I'm ready now."

* * *

 

"The Duke of Wycome is an Inquisition ally; it is odd for him to let bandits so close to his city. Perhaps he could help the Dalish," Josephine offered, once the group was fully debriefed and they had gathered around the oversized map in the center of the room. She brought her note pad to where her eyes could comfortably read, quill already positioned to start writing a letter.

"These seem too powerful to be mere bandits. My skirmishers can harass their flanks and give the Dalish a chance to retreat safely while I uncover the truth." Josephine seemed unimpressed by Leliana's suggestion. She did always prefer to confer with the local nobles, rather than sneak around and risk some political misstep. But Leliana had a point. Caiwen knew enough to recognize patterns of casual bandits, and so did her Keeper. If she thought there was something more to these attacks, Caiwen trusted her judgement. 

"Leliana is right. There is something more going on here. No simple bandits would attack a Dalish camp with such force. I can also send some troops to give the Dalish some much needed support." The agreement from Cullen surprised her. He was normally such a pragmatic man, and risking a battalion to protect her clan from a chance plot was not something she would think he would readily volunteer. She must have let her shock show when she looked up at the Commander because the eye contact caused the man to flush red. It seemed to be his complexion of choice lately.

"It is up to you, Inquisitor," Josephine prodded, though she was clearly less than thrilled that her idea was being pushed aside so readily. The three of them were staring at her and the air seemed too thick to breath all of a sudden. They were not used to her being so quiet but the entirety of the weeks events and the danger her Clan was in was beginning to overwhelm her, something that had seemed almost impossible up until now. 

"Leliana, send your scouts and see if they can find out anything. I want to know what this sudden pressure on my Clan means. Cullen, if you can spare a few men to strengthen their ranks, the hunters can do the rest. Do not involve anyone outside of the Clan. I know how that worries you Josie but...humans and Dalish don't always have the best history. If Leliana discovers a plot...someone in Wycome is sure to be behind it, and I don't want them catching wind of our machinations." Caiwen was impressed by her ability to dole out instructions so calmly, given her state of mind. It was only when she finished did she realize her nails were digging into the oakwood table. 

Her advisors were a little more observant however. They all looked on at her with a concern than boiled her blood even further. She had to remind herself it was not them that she was angry at. They were her friends, they were trying to help. With a deep breath she pushed herself away from the table and retreated through the door without another word, straight to her room. 

It was only hours later when a servant brought a tray filled with sweet herbed breads, a Dalish recipe she had shared with Josephine months prior, and honeyed tea on behalf of Leliana that she finally let herself cry.

* * *

 

Two days later Caiwen finally mustered up the energy to face Skyhold. Solas was still missing and her clan was still in danger, but she was also still the Inquisitor. She couldn't hole herself up in her room forever, what kind of confidence would that inspire. And so, she decided to start small, heading to her favorite spot; the garden.

She nodded politely at Mother Giselle, opting to avoid a theological debate this early in the afternoon, and made quick work of gathering the Arbor Blessing she had planted before leaving for the Exalted Plains.  A few passers by offered her a polite 'afternoon, Inquisitor' as she worked but as a whole they left her blessedly alone. It was only when she finished collecting her trimmings did she look over at the gazebo to find an odd sight; Dorian and Cullen playing some kind of Shem game.

Curiosity won out over her desire to remain solitary and she wandered over slowly, until she could catch wind of their conversation.

"Gloat all you like, I have this one," Caiwen could not help but grin at hearing the Commander sounding so cocky. Seeing him relaxed was not a sight she normally got to enjoy. Dorian, for his part, also seemed to be enjoying this new side to the Commander. The mage was sprawled lazily over the side of a chair, twirling a game piece in his hand with an air of both nonchalance and impish delight that he always seemed to possess.

"Are you  _sassing_ me Commander? I didn't know you had it in you." 

"Why do I even- Inquisitor!" Caiwen's amused snort had drawn the attention of the two men, much to her dismay. She was rather enjoying seeing the two just have fun. Cullen rose to his feet immediately, his rules of chivalry as ingrained into his bones as ever, while Dorian leaned forward in abject delight.

"Leaving are you? Does this mean I win?" Dorian's snide comment caused Cullen to shoot him a conflicted look. He glanced frantically between the board and Caiwen, and she was almost tempted to give him a sarcastic 'at ease, soldier' just to eliminate the choice for him. He desire to wipe Dorian's grin off seemed to win out however and the Cullen sat back down with a huff and moved one of the pieces, more tense now than he was seconds before.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, are you two playing nice?" She mused, though her comment was clearly directed at Dorian . She shot him a quirked eyebrow and he seemed to understand the admonishment.

"I am  _always_ nice," he protested, mocking hurt so dramatically that she half expected him to start fanning himself. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory, Commander, you'll feel much better." His 'hurt' turned to sickly concern that had Cullen rolling his eyes before Dorian made his move. A bad one, judging by the grin that split suddenly across the Commander's face.

"Really? Because I just won, and I feel fine." With a flourish Cullen moved a final piece and, judging by Dorian's faltered grin, he had made good on his statement. Caiwen could feel the impressed smile growing on her face, not from the victory of a game she had no knowledge of, but from finally getting a glimpse into the man behind the title. It was a nice chance to see a genuine smile on Cullen's face. Caiwen made a note to encourage it more often.

"Oh don't get smug, there will be no living with you." Dorian rose to his feet dramatically and brushed past her, but not before pausing to whisper a soft, "I'm glad you're feeling better, dear," and squeezing her shoulder tightly. Before she could register the gesture she was alone with Cullen. His bravado was short lived and he suddenly seemed to tense up again. Caiwen was starting to feel like he was afraid she would bite him or something.

"I should get back to work as well...unless you would care for a game?" The offer caught her off guard and at first she did not respond to it. Just before the silence started to become awkward however she found herself sitting across from Cullen, a wide grin splitting his face as he reset the board.

"You'll...you'll have to teach me. I've never played." Cullen had the good graces to look shocked before seeming to remember the tattoos on her face. 

"Ah. Of course, I apologize I-"

"Don't be silly, I want to learn." Cullen's hand lingered over the pieces before he smiled again and settled back into his seat. 

"As a child I played this with my sister. She would get a stuck up grin when she would win, which was  _all the time_." Try as he might to look annoyed Caiwen could sense the affection that warmed the memory he was sharing with her. It was touching, hearing him talk about his family. It made her long for her clan even more, though the longing was not tinged with as much sadness now. 

"My brother and I practiced for weeks, the look on her face when I finally won..." His face faltered for a moment, smile drooping almost imperceptibly before continuing, "Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays." 

"You have siblings?" She asked, suddenly wanting to get lost in his warm nostalgia for just a few moments. The distraction it provided from her own woes was like seeing the first batch of wildflowers after a long frost. 

"Two sisters and a brother. I do not write them as often as I should..."

"You should contact them. I know if it were me, I would worry for you. Just knowing your family is alive..." She wanted to curse herself for the waver in her voice and instead looked down at the foreign game, as Cullen seemingly finished setting up. His hand lingered next to hers on the side of the board, briefly, before his fingers curled and it retreated to his side of the table.

"Inquisitor...I mean Caiwen. I...I'm sorry about your clan. You laid out a good plan, I'm sure...We'll make it in time. I promise." She chanced a look up at him and saw his honey brown eyes boring into her. The certainty there made her feel lighter, somehow. She sighed again, already tired of the way she had been acting lately. This had to stop.

"Thank you, Cullen. Truly," She reached out and squeezed his hand briefly, but it was enough to send his eyebrows shooting straight up into his hairline and his face to rouge. She made a note to ask him if he wanted help concocting something to deal with that ongoing fever of his. "Now. I believe I have a game to learn."

The next hour or so was spent in the peaceful, quiet garden, with Cullen patiently explaining the rules of the game, chess, to her and Caiwen fumbling awkwardly through the game play. She often had to be reminded of rules and strategy almost immediately after being taught them. She did not normally enjoy being incompetent at things but the awkward fumbling and breathless laughter that ensued through the afternoon was well worth the embarrassment.

"I see why you excel at battle planning, Commander. This game seems to lend itself readily," She joked, after he annihilated yet another one of her pawns. He laughed warmly, a sound that she was growing to like, and leaned forward in his seat, placing the game piece in his growing pile. 

"You know, this may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters." He smiled and glanced down at his hands, still covered by his heavy leather gloves even on this temperate day. "To be honest, I appreciate the distraction." 

She smiled, despite herself, realizing he was right. It was a welcome change, not having to think about the growing list of responsibilities stacked on her shoulders. It was nice to escape it, with someone who no doubt was experiencing something similar.

"We should spend more time together," She suggested, grinning up at him as she made another, no doubt clumsy, move of her Queen. She looked back up at him expecting the same easy smile that he had worn for the better part of the afternoon. Instead she was met with a stern frown. The sudden change was almost jarring.

"Would you not prefer Solas' company?" The question hit her harder than she expected, stunning her into silence for a moment. The anxiety of the week suddenly flooded over her, as well as the memory of that day. The despair in his eyes as he guided his friend into it's death, the rage as he killed those mages in cold blood. The shameful, fleeting fear she felt as he turned back to her. The guilt as she let him walk away.

"Solas is not here." She stated, a little more bitterly than perhaps she meant to. Guilt suddenly flooded her senses. She was not with Solas, not really, but this afternoon, with Cullen...it felt wrong. Like she was caught doing something she shouldn't be. Not to mention the shame she felt about encouraging any attachment more than friendship that Cullen might be harboring for her. "Besides, I hoped that you and I could be friends."

Cullen's face fell even more and her heart suddenly clenched, as he smiled ruefully at her. "Friends. Yes, of course."

She felt herself chewing her lip, a tick she had developed whenever she was nervous or uncomfortable. She had ruined a perfectly good afternoon. Ruining things should be a talent of hers. "Cullen...if things were different..."

"I cannot speak to that." He offered her another small smile and looked down at the board. "And I believe the game is yours. Well played, Inquisitor." He let her win, she knew, but the title in place of her name stung more than any loss. He stood abruptly, attempted at another smile, and left the garden. Caiwen suddenly lost her taste for chess.

* * *

 

She remained there under the gazebo for what seemed like hours, though she was sure it was only a handful of minutes, staring at the chessboard and letting her guilt and anxiety eat away at her. This was not supposed to be what today was, she scolded herself. She had to be strong, there were so many counting on her, so many she was responsible for. She could not let personal matters affect her the way they had been. She was no longer just Caiwen of Clan Lavellan, she was Inquisitor Lavellan, leader of the Inquisiton and all its holdings, the only hope this world had of sealing away the tears in the Fade forever, of defeating Corypheus. She had to be more than herself. And yet, she still did not quite know how to do so. 

She listlessly rose from her seat in the garden and wandered through the halls of Skyhold, as if looking for answers. She wandered past Varric, who mentioned something about wanting her to meet a friend of his that was heading to Skyhold, she listlessly walked past the empty Rotunda, and out into the brisk air of the courtyard. She checked in with Cassandra, chatted about progress with the Seekers. She turned down a pint of Ale with Bull and narrowly missed walking straight into one of Sera's pranks. She managed to smile and joke with her friends but she could not shake the feeling of not fitting into her own skin. 

Finally, as the sun was just starting to sink below to Frostbacks and she started her weary trek back to the main hall for dinner, she saw him. She blinked repeatedly, half expecting her eyes to adjust and realize it was merely a trick of the light. But no, there he was, as regal as ever, sauntering through the main gate as if he had simply gone out for an evening stroll, and not spent the better half of the month wandering alone in the wilds. Solas.

Suddenly it was like they were the only two people in Skyhold. Her eyes zeroed in on only him and she knew she was walking down the stairs towards him but it felt like she was floating. She nearly pinched herself just to make sure this wasn't another dream in the Fade. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she thought it might burst straight out of her chest. Her mind scrolled through the various things she wanted to say to him:  _Where have you been? How could you leave like that? I was scared for you. I was scared_ of _you. I missed you._

Somehow all she managed to say was a breathless, "How are you, Solas." The words did not sound real. He did not seem real. But there he was, in the flesh. He hung his head and looked up at her through his lashes, hands clasped behind his back in their usual position but his stature was one of contrition. It was not a look she could remember seeing on him before.

"It hurts. It always does, but I will survive." 

"Thank you," she breathed, resisting the urge to reach out had touch him, just to prove he was tangible, "for coming back."

He looked at her straight on, then, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion as if she was some circus oddity. If she had suddenly sprouted extra heads at least that would support her Fade theory.

"You were a true...friend," he said carefully. The word friend did not have the same gentle let down that it did before, with Cullen. He spoke the word reverently, as if it was part of some sacred prayer, something that he did not expect to find here. "I could hardly abandon you now."

"Where...where did you go?" She prodded gently. She was still afraid that any wrong move on her part would send him running again. Instead he smiled sadly at her and gazed back at the setting sun behind them. 

"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place my friend used to be." He paused then, and looked down at his feet. If Caiwen didn't know better she would say he was trying to keep his voice steady, to keep from crying. "Its empty. But there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there." And finally, he flashed her a genuine smile, small but full of hope. It almost took her breath away.

"The next time you have to mourn, you do not need to be alone." She could hear the raw concern, tinged with admonishment in her voice, but she did not care. She was too tired, too stretched thin to mask her emotions now. There was no point to it. He dropped his head again, in what might be a sort of shame.

"Its been so long since I could trust someone..."

"I know."

"And I...I did not want you to see me. Not like that. I was...I was not proud of how the ordeal affected me." He fell to silence, head still hung low, avoiding her eyes. She hesitantly reached out for his arm and trailed her hand down until she found his hand and intwined their fingers together. He looked at their clasped hands in shock then up at her. She could almost read the emotions there, sadness and doubt and a sense of wonder, and it made her realize that this the most open she had ever seen him.

"I'll work on it. And thank you."

And that was all she needed. Suddenly, the world felt right once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll probably be heading into smut territory soon so watch out!


	14. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas wants to get closer to Caiwen, but they both know he's holding himself back.

Solas did not see much of Caiwen after his return to Skyhold. It was probably for the best, he was still raw from the ordeal in the Exalted Plains. Seeing her again seemed to rip open all the wounds he had tried to scab over on his own. Being near her made him feel exposed, like she could see right through him. It was both terrifying and thrilling. 

He would see her as she passed through, on her way to the Commander's office with an armful of papers and a concerned look on her face, only to return hours later with an even deeper frown. He did not think much of it at first; she of all people had plenty on her plate to worry about. But then he started seeing less of her at meals in the hall, and her war room sessions grew longer with each passing day. Before he could even notice he realized he was worried about her. One day after watching her speed past him back into the Hall, he attempted to follow, only to leave the Rotunda and see her marching straight towards the war room.

"What brings you out of your cave, Chuckles?" Solas turned to look down at the smirking dwarf next to him. He had been so preoccupied with watching Caiwen he hadn't even noticed the man loitering next to the fireplace.

"I'm concerned about the Inquisitor. There seems to be something troubling her, apart from her normal duties." He replied cooly, schooling his face into something resembling neutral disinterest.

"Mmmhmm. Sure. Well, if you were really concerned you could just ask her." Solas immediately blanched at the idea. He could not think of a way to bring up his concern without admitting how ardently he had been studying her...or how much he might care for her. He was still holding onto the scrap of distance he placed between them and anything else would be dangerous. Varric seemed to surmise this was a bad idea and he sighed heavily, all but rolling his eyes. "She's been like this since she returned from your little field trip. From what I gather something has happened with her Clan. Her 'advisors' or whatever they call themselves have been trying to assist her with whatever it is."

Her clan. Of course. He knew how much they meant to her, especially after the revelation she made about their harrowed past. What he could not understand is why she had not divulged the information to him. "She has not made any mention of trouble with Clan Lavellan."

"You think she would tell you?" Varric asked incredulously. The dwarf was smirking in astonishment, as if he could not belief they were having this conversation.

"The Inquisitor and I...have become close friends over the course of recent events. I do not know why you are so astounded that I wish to help."

"Close or not, Chuckles, it's not like you're a big advocate for the Dalish." The dwarf crossed his arms and quirked his brow, leaning back against the brick fireplace as if trying to take in Solas' predicament for recall later. It was honestly maddening. 

"Oh and I suppose you are then,  _dwarf_?"

" _I've_ never insulted her heritage. You may hold Caiwen in high esteem but the way you talk about the Dalish...it's like you forget they are a part of her. Of her identity. I'm not trying to criticize you, Solas. Okay maybe I am a little, but what I mean is...well are you  _really_ surprised she didn't come to you with this?"

Solas frowned deeply at that. Varric had a point, infuriatingly enough. The more he admired Caiwen the more he tried to distance her from the foolish ways of the Dalish in his mind. But she was one of them. The markings marring her lovely face were proof enough of that. And he knew how much she cared for her people. He was just...hurt that she did not trust him enough to share her burdens. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he became angry with himself. He was not supposed to let himself become close to her, originally, and now he was all but  _yearning_ for it. Was it fair of him to want to share her troubles, when he himself could not share his? The confusion made him falter, then scowl, he could feel his eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

"Thank you for your counsel, Master Tethras," he responded tersely. Then with a bow he added, "If you excuse me I have some matters to attend to," And retreated back into his study. 

He tried in vain to read through some of the manuscripts scattered on his desk but every time he tried he realized he had to reread the same sentence a dozen times before registering it in his brain. Frustrated with himself he brushed the papers aside and decided to wander the Fade. Instead of returning to his room he simply reclined on the chaise and closed his eyes. He did not know how long he wandered the forgotten memories of Skyhold, chatting with spirits of the people of the lowest denominator: a servant who performed his duties out of affection for his master, a cook who would refuse to serve anything she did not taste herself, a stable hand whose only friends were the steeds she attended.  Following their lives, hearing their stories calmed his own stormy mind, and by the time his eyes fluttered open it was well past dusk. The candles were burning low and he made to sit up when a movement by his desk caught his eye.

"Any good dreams today?" Caiwen quirked, looking up from the letter she was writing with a smile. "You seemed peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Several actually." He sat up slowly, kicking off the remnants of sleep. He wanted to chastise himself for the thrill that ran through him at seeing her first thing when he awoke. But as she laid down her quill and rose to stretch he could not help his eyes from wandering over her strong, lithe body. It had been a while since he allowed himself to really admire her beauty. Her tall, muscled frame was draped with only a pair of simple leggings and a loose night shirt. He should have admonished her for her chosen attire, for if he could see her breast band in the low candlelight of the room, half of Skyhold must have seen it on her way over there. But his mouth was dry by the time his eyes made it up to her tanned face, her plump lips pulled at one side into a half smile and eyes like summer flowers, all wide, dark pupils rimmed by warm streaks of gold. Seeing her in the field, covered up in mud and guts and sweat, often made him forget how naturally lovely she was. But here, while the fingers of sleep still clawed at his mind and the golden light glinted off her matching eyes, he was suddenly at a loss for words.

"Sorry I have not visited lately," she spoke, breaking him from his trance, "I had some...matters to attend to." She sat next to him on the lounge and tucked her long legs underneath her. "Not to mention Varric surprising everyone with the Champion of Kirkwall. Cassandra was not pleased to see her let me tell you-"

"Why did you not tell me your Clan was in trouble?" The words had escaped him before he had a chance to think them, but he schooled his face into something that hopefully hid how invested he was in this conversation. Caiwen for her part did not seem shocked that he knew or asked her, though he thought he saw the beginnings of shame tug her features downward.

"I did not think you cared about what happened to the Dalish to be honest." She stared him in the eye, as if daring him to deny her.

"I don't." He admitted frankly, "But I do care about...this affects you and therefore I am invested. Whether by my own design or not." She noticed his misstep, of course. Her back straightened stiffly, contrasting her leisurely presence before, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, obviously holding back some kind of snide remark.

"You cannot keep separating me from my people, Solas. They are part of who I am. If you do..." she faltered for a moment, face redding as she continued, "if you do care about me, then you need to accept every facet of me. That includes my Clan."

He stayed silent, at that. He did care about her, he could at least admit that to himself. Saying it aloud, however was a whole different exercise. Admitting it to her would be opening himself up to more than he would be able to handle, and yet the words were constantly on the brink of spilling from his lips, unwarranted. He did not enjoy seeing her upset, by any means, but he also did not wish to lie to her. He could not set aside his experiences with the Dalish simply because she was an exception. Or maybe she was not, he could not say for sure. He also could not tell her exactly why their way of life bothered him so, without divulging his own role in their creation. One thing he did know was that he wanted, desperately, for her to feel comfortable around him. To trust him. The desire took him by surprise. 

"I...apologize, if I have offended you,  _lethallin_ ," he said carefully, "I have not had the most pleasant interactions with your people, as you know. But I realize now that is no excuse. I should not think of you as an exception or example, you are you. And they are your family. That is enough for me." Caiwen pondered his words, then nodded solemnly, and Solas let out a breath he did not realize he was holding.

"They're fine, for now...they were being attack by...well apparently bandits. But Leliana discovered it was on the orders of the local nobility." Her shoulders tensed again at the recollection, clearly still enraged, but she took a deep breath and continued on,  keeping her voice steady. "We're keeping a few agents out there with them in case anything progresses. But they are safe." She clenched her hands and looked down. Before Solas could give into the instinct to comfort her, she continued.

"You know, that's not the only reason I didn't come to you with this." Solas felt his own shoulders clench now. He had assumed he had solved the issue, but now she was saying there was something else. 

"I'm...not sure I understand."

Caiwen sighed heavily, kicking her feet at the tile below her and gripping the end of the lounge as if it was the only thing keeping her upright.

"I know there's things about yourself you won't, or can't tell me." Solas felt his eyebrows shoot up. Had he been that obvious? He knew she was observant sure, but how much did she really know? Did she suspect him of duplicity? "That's...that's fine. You can keep your secrets, I won't force you to divulge them but...well every time I think I'm starting to get close, to really see who you are, you pull away. I'm tired of chasing you Solas." Ah, not suspicion then. But her keen observation of him was still unnerving. He shifted in his seat, unable to respond or do much of anything while pinned by her gaze and the shame that coiled in his gut.

"You don't have to share everything with me, but if...whatever is between us is going to go anywhere you do have to be here. With me. You can't always be about to turn heel and run. Eventually I won't be able to stop you and...and the thought of that kills me. I don't want to be put through that. So don't make me. I'm the Inquisitor, first and foremost, and I can't be nursing an unrequited crush on one of my advisors. You can't have it both ways, Solas. You need to choose."

Before he could say anything, either to protest or agree and cut ties he could not say, she stood up abruptly. "I came here to tell you we'll be leaving to follow Hawke's lead about the Grey Wardens. We leave for Crestwood in the morning, if you care to join us. I'll leave you to wandering the Fade until then." And with that she was gone. The echo of the wooden door to the rotunda clanged loudly, as if reminding him of just how utterly alone he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one but it was a necessary transition! Soon onto Grey Warden shenanigans!


	15. Heroes By the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry for the delay! I had some laptop issues then was hit by all this hurricane nonsense and when we finally got our lives together my laptop officially died on me. So, new computer, ready to take on some an fiction! 
> 
> This is a very short one but I wanted to give y'all a little something before we dive head first into some raw fade travel!

In two weeks, the Inquisition managed to make contact with Hawke's Grey Warden friend and clear out the demons, darkspawn and dead plaguing Crestwood. The only monster remaining there was the Mayor who had taken to the road once he knew his horrid secret would be brought to light with the revelation of Old Crestwood. It made Caiwen sick to think that someone, a normal man, could do that to the people in his care. He was not blighted himself, nor possessed just simply...a bad leader. The juxtaposition between his actions and her own fears about her leadership made Caiwen even more on edge than before.

They had all decided to move towards the Western Approach together but were spending one last night on the edge of Crestwood before their long trek. Solas and Varric were sharing a tent, thank the Creators, as were Cassandra and Sera. That left Caiwen and Hawke to share a tent and the Warden, Alistair, to set up his own camping materials. The fire was burning low, reflecting on the glittering lake beside them as the moon rose higher in the sky. After dinner everyone had wandered to their tents except for the Inquisitor and the two former heroes of their respective lands. A heavy silence hung between them as Caiwen prodded the fire sullenly.

Finally Hawke sighed and pulled out a bottle of Antivan Red from her cloak - how she had hid that for so long Caiwen did not know. 

"Well don't we make a cheerful trio of insomniacs. Drink?" Alistair and Caiwen nodded, both a little shocked as Hawke proceeded to pour them each a generous glass of wine.

"So does this hero thing give everyone terrors or our we just the lucky ones," she smirked as she handed Caiwen her mug.

"Something about having the crushing responsibility of thousands of lives in your hands tends to sour the dreams, I find," Alistair quirked, greedily downing his own portion and holding out his mug for a refill already. 

"Good to know I'm not alone in that at least," Caiwen offered, gently sipping at the wine, letting the sweet, full bodied liquid fill her mouth and then run down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth that was much appreciated in the damp night air.

"Well I'm no more than a glorified side kick really," Alistair grinned, with no hint of malice, as he took another swig and started unfastening the armor around his legs. "Now if Gemma was here I'm sure she'd regale you with all the fun moments of self doubt and fear that the history books seem to gloss over."

"Gemma? You mean the Hero of Fereldon?" Caiwen asked, leaning forward in her seat. The story of the Hero of Fereldon always fascinated her. It sounded like something out of her Keeper's tales of morality, to be frank. A caste-less dwarf rising above her station to fight for innocents. Thrown into a hot bed of monsters and responsibility she did not ask for, well it was something that Caiwen was understanding more and more each day.

"Don't you call her that in person, she'd deck you." He grinned in response, staring into his mug fondly as if there was something in the reflection there that only he could see.

"Someone's got a crush." Hawke prodded, reclining against one of the tipped over logs.

"It's not like that is secret information," he chided, "besides I hear the Champion of Kirkwall has a thing for surly elves."

"Call Fenris surly to his face and see how good you are with that shield of yours." The two laughed together and clinked glasses as Caiwen looked on, smiling softly.

"What about you,  _Inquisitor_?" Hawke interjected, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"What about me?" She smirked into her mug, gulping down the wine to hide the flush on her face.

"Oh come on, every hero needs a dashing love interest," Alistair chimed in, "Don't tell me you've gotten this far without catching the eye of someone interesting.

Caiwen glanced unconsciously at the tent where Solas was sleeping, next to a snoring dwarf, but apparently the action was not quick enough to slip past Alistair and Hawke.

"What, V _arric?_ Don't get me wrong, I clearly appreciate a good dwarf too but-oomf" Alistair was blessedly cut off by Hawke's elbow to his gut.

"How'd you help save Fereldon, being so daft? I can't believe they almost made you bloody king. It's the tall elf, Chuckles. "

"Solas." Caiwen mumbled 

"I knew it, you have the surly elf-type running in your bones too." Hawke slapped a hand on Caiwen's back, almost causing her to choke on the sip she took, but instead she swallowed and held out her mug for more.

"It's not like that...it's complicated." She muttered, glancing back at the tent one last time to make sure he was asleep.

"It always is." Hawke responded solemnly, dumping the final contents of her bottle into Caiwen's mug, tapping gently to get every last drop out. "Fenris spent years trying to keep me at a distance. Had this whole 'I'll only hurt you' manta running through his head. You just gotta be louder than the voices telling him to doubt himself."

Alistair nodded limply at her over his own drink, as though Hawke had uttered some deep, solemn truth. But she nodded back nonetheless, taking comfort in the fact that maybe she wasn't alone in her thoughts, her experiences. She was not the first person to rise up to near exaltation, and certainly not recently. It was humbling and great relief to stare over the embers at her new found friends and see the same heaviness in their eyes that weighed on her heart.

"So where are they, then? Fenris and Gemma?"

"Gemma's out looking for a cure. For the Wardens," Alistair said solemnly, his voice getting lower. "She...we...always wanted a family. Even without the Blight, a human and a dwarf...well it's not a match you see every day. But with the Blight...well its been impossible to conceive. She's hoping...we're hoping...that she can find something so no one has to live their life without choice again." He hung his head low, kicking the dirt with his travel worn boots. "She's been gone for so long now though...I'm not even sure where she is now. And then all this nonsense with the Wardens over here started up and well...to say I miss her would be an understatement."

Alistair took a final swig to hie his blushing cheeks. It was an interesting juxtaposition, seeing this heavily armored machine of a man blushing like a child at the thought of his love. He reminded her of Cullen, in that moment.

"Fenris doesn't even know I'm here. Or, well, he probably does by now. Leaving a note was probably not the best idea." Hawke interjected sheepishly.

"Wait you didn't tell him you were coming here?"

"To the Inquisition at all, actually. We talked about it - well, argued more like. He kept saying that I 'don't owe them anything' and I had 'already done enough for these blighted people'," she chuckled under her breath at her own mockery of the man she called her lover. "He was trying to keep me safe. Sweet, but...well a hero's job is never done, is it?" She smiled wryly, her short black hair whisping over her glinting eyes. Caiwen could see why Varric liked her so much. It was like everything she said was some inside joke that you desperately wanted to be in on. 

"So...you're telling me that whole 'Happily Ever After' nonsense for heroes of legend is just a sham, then?"

Instead of the mirth and smiles she expected, all that looked back at her were two pairs of somber eyes. As if they had been waiting to tell her some horrible secret and now was the time.

"Best you can ever hope for is 'happy for now', Caiwen," Hawke said sternly, then Alistair placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"When that happens, hold on as long as you can. There's always some new mess to clean up. Chase those moments in between while you can."

Withe the wine gone and with some last murmuring of goodnight, the two heroes left her alone for first watch. It was a good thing there as peace in that valley for now, for Caiwen could not tear her eyes away from the tent behind her for the rest of the night, where a dwarf snored and a stubborn elf unwittingly held her heart.

 


	16. Hot Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiwen hates the desert sand, and things started to get heated under the blaring sun that soaks the dunes of the Western Approach.

The Western Approach was hell. Why anyone would ever choose to be there was beyond Caiwen's ability to fathom. She supposed this was as good a reason to place the Wardens' demon summoning and subsequent binding here as any other. No one was likely to accidentally stumble by the ruins on a pleasure holiday, she was certain. 

The dessert was everything she hated: heat, no reprieve from the harsh sun, barren and worst of all  _sand_. She had sand in places she hadn't remembered existed until that day. And lords  _fighting_ in the sand? Damn near impossible. She was certain she would have shot that pudgy, evil patronizing magister down with one arrow had the ground had the decency of being even. Or at the very least stable. 

After missing the mage's head a third time she all but yelled in frustration, attracting the attention of a nearby terror demon. Before her comrades could even notice the monster had teleported behind her. Now, normally this would not pose much of  problem: by now Caiwen had fought enough of these beasts to spot the telltale sign of their appearance from the ground and leap away with plenty of time to knock an arrow.

But this time as she noted the sickly green pool beneath her feet signifying their portal, she turned to bound out of harms way but her foot hit a loose clump of sand and twisted, rendering her prone long enough for the demon to swipe at her with one of it's menacing claws. As her flesh was torn from her arm and she watched the monster rear up for another strike she had only one thought.

_Fucking. Sand._

She threw a clump of the vile stuff in the beasts eyes, causing it to shriek and rear back long enough for her to sink one of her daggers into it's chest and  _pull_.

She couldn't remember the last time killing felt so satisfying. 

It wasn't until she rolled off the monster and resigned herself to the sand that she remembered the sharp throb in her ankle and the fresh blood oozing from her arm.

"Anyone have any spare potions?" She called, a little more gruffly than she perhaps meant to. It was then her party turned and saw their fallen hero, and suddenly she was swarmed. Hawke held a potion to her lips as Solas put his hands gently on her ankle. As he pressed she felt another sharp jolt of pain and instead of crying out she lashed out.

"Okay! Okay! Everybody off I'm fine." She shot, all but pushing her friends off of her, but gratefully chugging the elfroot potion nonetheless. Despite Solas' disapproving look, or perhaps because of it, she started to push herself up. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before. Let's go get that scumba-ah!"

"Inquisitor you need to rest, you'll only aggravate your injury-"

"He's getting away - FUCK,  _stop touching me Solas._ " She retracted her leg from him as another jolt of pain shot through her. She immediately regretted her action, partly due to the pain and partly due to the darkened look that fell over Solas' face. He was not pleased with her. 

"He's already gone, and even if he wasn't what do you intend to do to him in this state? Bleed on him?" Solas' voice was sharp, it was a tone he used when he was dealing with someone he considered very stupid and the realization of this both shamed and infuriated her. Nevertheless she remained silent, glaring at him like some petulant child being told off by her Keeper. "You're no use to us-to the Inquisition injured. And you're even less use dead. So be quiet, be still, and let me tend to your wounds before you make them worse."

Humiliated and furious, she slowly let her leg stretch out to his waiting fingers. She refused to meet his eyes and instead locked eyes with Hawke who seemed like she was trying not to laugh.

"So....that went well," the Champion of Kirkwall mused, stifling another laugh as Caiwen grimaced from the sensation of healing magic flowing through her veins.

"You were right," Alistair huffed, looking around forlornly at the strewn bodies of his comrades. "Thanks to the ritual the Warden mages are enslaved to Coyrpheus."

"And the Warden warriors?" Hawke pried hopefully, only handing her head as she took in the pained look on Alistair's face. "Oh...of course. It's not _real_ blood magic until someone gets sacrificed." 

"Human sacrifice, demons summoning..." Caiwen grumbled, trying to wrap her head around the idea as Solas moved on to healing her torn arm. "Who-argh!-who looks at this and think's its a good idea?"

"The fearful and the foolish." Well at least someone shared Caiwen's resentment.

"Hawke they made a mistake, but they thought it was necessary," Alistair interjected. He seemed to take this as a personal affront.

"All blood mages do," Hawke continued, not masking her disgust, "Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions...and it never matters."Her voice suddenly got quieter then, and her gaze fell to the floor. Granted she did not know the woman long but Caiwen had never seen Hawke recede from confrontation. It seems the Warden was not the only one making this conversation personal. "In the end you are always alone in your actions."

Alistair seemed to sense Hawke's change of tone, and that arguing was not going to help matters Instead he turned to the rest of the group which had remained uncomfortably silent the whole exchange.

"I may know where the Wardens are. Erimond fled that way...There's an abandoned Warden fortress in that direction, Adamant."

"I guess they didn't want to summon a demon army out in public," Caiwen retorted dryly, hissing at the pain of healing flesh and dreading the thought of more sand. 

"Alistair and I will scout ahead. Send word to Skyhold, if all the Wardens are indeed there...you will need your troops. Once you are healed and your men have arrived, we will take action."

Alistair looked dubiously at Hawke, probably not looking to a solo mission with her after their last exchange, but he nodded and the plan was made.

All that was left was to write Cullen, rest, and wait.

* * *

Solas was unsure of why Caiwen was intent on killing herself but the routine was becoming frustrating. By the time they convinced her of setting up camp by the ruins he had depleted him mana trying to heal the giant gash in her arm. During the battle he had been preoccupied keeping the worst of the rage demons off of Alistair and Varric, content in the knowledge that Caiwen usually stuck to ranged attacks, usually darting around the battlefield so quickly he couldn't even place a stable barrier on her. But this time He had turned just in time to see her falter in the sand and for the terror demon to rip his claws through her flesh.

His heart barely had time to falter and urge his feet to run before Caiwen had launched herself at the demon, then slumped over as her daggers met their target.

By the time he got to her, her ankle was already swelling and her arm was staining the sand beneath her body red, and yet she still insisted on trying to pursue that damned magister. Logically, he knew she was probably in shock and he shouldn't have snapped at her like he did, but  his heart was still stuttering and the blood in his veins was still filled with the icy terror of watching her fall and she  _wouldn't_   _let him help_.

After his outburst she at least had the decency to let him work, though that did not stop the golden daggers of her eyes glaring into his skull as he hunched over her. Solas, for his part, remained silent for the ensuing plan-making and camp settlement. He drank a lyrium potion as Varric finished setting up the last bed and laying Caiwen out on a cot in her own tent, though the flap remained up. He could see her clearly across the flickering fire and he soon found himself unable to look anywhere else. He watched her try and fail to fight her anxiety and rest her eyes, before she started rooting through her rucksack for an amalgamation of herbs and a kit to make a poultice for her arm.

He watched her struggle to put together the salve one handed for perhaps longer than was polite before walking over to her and laying a hand on hers, clenched around a bundle of elfroot, and said softly, "Please. Allow me."

For a moment it looked as if she was about to protest, but a glance down as her shaking arm had her sucking up her pride and nodding curtly at him. Her fingers loosened around the herbs enough for him to pry them from her, and continue mashing them into a pulp. They stayed that way in silence, him mixing the salve and her watching him work by the dim firelight that seeped into the tent, before he finished and started spreading the mixture onto a bandage for her arm.

She hissed in pain as he placed the bandage on her arm, and he involuntarily felt his fingers loosen, opting for a more gentle touch. 

"...thank you," she finally murmured, as he finished the last wrap around her forearm, "And I'm sorry. For before. But it is best you keep in mind who is in earshot before you start scolding your Inquisitor like a youngling-" She started, adjusting her posture to one closer fitting her station than slumped over a healer. He jolted at the coldness that the use of such a title amongst them now incurred. It was a cruel reminder at how much distance always remained between them, no matter how hard he may wish it gone in his quieter moments.

"Then perhaps  _my Inquisitor_ should take heed to stop acting like a reckless chi-"

"I  _am not_ a child, Solas," she cut in, gripping his arm as he started to wash the ointment off in the water bowl next to her cot, "nor are you my Keeper. I am a woman, or do you need reminding of that?" 

The question shook him once again and he saw her fiery golden eyes presenting him a dare. He felt his eyes wander over her battered but lovely body almost of their own volition. Her shirt lay unbuttoned and open, allowing him access to her healing ribs but also to her gently curving chest, heaving slowly in tune with her slightly labored breath. Her body continued languidly curving over the cot, a slight raise at the hips and buttocks reminding him of a sudden bend in a river. The golden-brown hues of her skin were only marred by some deep and long healed scars mixed with a few blue and red bruises that were certainly new. Despite the battle wounds, or perhaps due to them, her whole body sung of a soft summer day by a creek and he longed to get lost in her. 

"Solas?" Her voice woke him from his trance and he once again met her gaze. He couldn't help but be annoyed at how the indigence from before was now replaced by mirth at his expense. She knew her effect on him. "Unusually quiet now. Maybe you do need help jogging your memory." She quipped, her posture once again changing to something resembling a lounging cat watching a prey it deemed too easy. "Or perhaps you simply do not care about such a reckless thing as me. I apologize if my fighting has been a bother to you, _haren_."

"You and I both know that is not true,  _lethallin_. Caiwen." Her breath caught noticeably when he said her name and it was only then he realized it was the first time he had called her by it out loud in...well possibly ever. 

He walked over to the open tent flap and closed it, turning back to her and sitting on the edge of the cot. Caiwen, for her part, seemed confused but eager to listen. He looked at her intently, trying to line of the words swarming his head into some semblance of sense while maintaining his self control. 

"I care about you, Caiwen, I did not think that was a point of contention."

"You're not exactly what I would call  _direct,_ Solas. That aside, I know I can seem...out of my element. But these people have chosen me to make the decisions I do. You can try to reel me back but I need to maintain some level of respect here. Its what kept me alive this long and what will keep my people alive when the time comes." 

His heart clenched at the shadow of his own responsibilities weighed upon her own shoulders. They both were trying to do the best for the people they never asked to be responsible for it. He found himself wishing he had the same clarity as her when it came to protecting them.

He felt his resolve passing with each passing moment, and suddenly he realized his face was drawing closer to hers. His voice was much deeper and breathier than he intended and he briefly forgot she was not a mage weaving a spell on him.

"I do not just care about  _the Inquisitor_ , Caiwen, and that is where the problem lies." She was leaning towards him as well, her eyes hooded and her teeth just gently biting down on her bottom lip. It was so much temptation and adrenaline at once. He felt his resolve breaking and he found him not caring. "I need you to stay alive. More than I need the Inquisitor to." He felt his lips ghost over hers, a slight jolt of his mana, still at the surface from healing her and excited by his own racing heart, jumped from his skin to hers.

He felt her shudder beneath him and start to lean up when a loud 'CAW' sounded outside the tent, followed by the sound of scratching talons on rough burlap. 

They both seemed to snap out of the spell at the same time, and he suddenly felt the shame coil in his stomach at his almost-transgression. Caiwen looked searchingly up at him and he wanted nothing more than to stay, but they both had work to do and it was best he did not forget that again.

"That will be correspondence from Skyhold. I will leave you to your duties." He stood up abruptly and re-opened the tent, allowing the raven to hop in with it's scroll, before she could stop him. He did not trust he had the will power to resist her if she tried. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to follow the events of Inquisition through Trespasser and maybe beyond? Rated E because there is definitely gonna be some smut ahead.


End file.
